Dead Fields of Green Grass

the dead-- they are my friends, here in this open space of residency. perhaps a place of distillation a concentrated eulogy that is corrosive to the heart if swallowed too deeply. a child at heart knows where to place his toys, a lost child puts them away. manicured fields of green grass bring an inch of hope while specs of multiple finches in the blue blackdrop lead me closer to the things a coffin of rest can never hold.