“The Spartan’s Willow” by J. Lansbery

How is it


From under the willow tree


Where the ground’s dirt has perished flesh and bones


Among other irretrievables, there is no light.


I wanted to be an indefatigable Spartan.


I did not know hanging bodies left imitable shadows


On earth


Where elevation brought more than content:


An end.


The grain caustic, even the moon unnoticeable,


The Willow’s tendrils hover like a saint in prayer and


Cover all of my body’s flaws.


I wanted to be an unstoppable Spartan.


I did not know a hide out would shape a life, would


Let skin coil around bones of ash and stop a heart


Of blood and diligence.


But the pleading is the downfall that is the hanging


Leaves, the unseeing boughs that form the willow like


Veins, un-transparent.


The sun and moon are one now and I am unaware.


The curtain has fallen.