A Woman Lies Buried Under Me

A woman lies buried under me,
interred for centuries, presumed dead.

A woman lies buried under me.
I hear her soft whisper ,
the rasp of her parchment skin
fighting the folds of her shroud.
Her eyes are pierced by needles,
her eyelids, two fluttering moths.

A woman lies buried under me,
afraid to wake, afraid to greet
the eyeless ovals of intimate faces.
And choosing.

A woman lies buried under me
dreaming that she walks
across the horns of the moon
and wakes at the foot of its bridge.

A woman lies buried under me.
Clothed in black
the moon sheds its light-
a fragile snake skin
brushing my face.

A woman lies buried under me.
I hear her soft whisper ,
the rasp of her parchment wings
fighting the folds of my shroud.

A woman lies buried under me.
I emerge covered with mud .
Twigs fall from my eyes.
I rise, smell every flower
touch the four corners "
and the burning trees.

In my own hands
my life.