dark poetry

and as we walked the grass was faintly stirred
it was a tall young oysterman
for i was a gaunt, grave councillor
the old west, the old time
i cannot always feel his greatness
i burn no incense
she might have known it in the earlier spring
evidenced in the glimmer in your eyes
three days i heard them grieve when i lay dead
somewhere i read a strange, old, rusty tale
i flung my soul to the air like a falcon flying
have you seen walking through the village