Those empty (blind) trains
crossing the Alps
are trying to find you

The Indian sisters
dead six months
dream of you
they envy your blue eyes
which have no coverings

And from a fourth dimension
lost husbands
are winding their way back
to woo you
from your solitary days

No the gravediggers
will never uncover you
the scrolls don’t mention you
once

The poor seekers
with their red lanterns
so close at times
are waylaid by birdcalls
thunder drums

Their work is endless
your name a wishbone
caught in their throats