A WRITER'S CRAFT

A WRITER’S CRAFT 

Crevices flourish with signatures of moss. / They might not know it, but even they/ have stories to tell. All is elegy, / departing or gone; incessant rain, /language the earth understands. --- From “How I Came to Writing” by Luisa A. Igloria, Via Negativa, 10-14-11

Even the crevices will be covered with moss,

and grass before it. Cracks on these memorials

are stories told and retold where burial grounds

are salons of the lingering undead, memory

hounds like incessant rain. Nothing is ever lost. 

Only elegies stay, a language of remembrance

for all who would care anyway. Like tombs,

they have embellished narratives of kindness,

gentleness, rectitude, abiding flames of love.

Like Taj Mahal, these remain unextinguished. 

Stones or pillars, marble markers, or epitaphs

recall these lost lives and loves from crevices

covered with moss and grass before it, but all

will sprout from mute and scorched earth

like words cranked out of pain in an empty heart. 

--- Albert B. Casuga

10-14-11