EVEN IN WINTER

even in winter
we found flowers
to mark the graves
brave blooms
white as a dead eye
on churned ground
so soft our boots sank
as we carried you
what was left of you
you were no weight at all
not one of you whole
but each to your own
resting place
after the common pit
where they threw you
were you even dead?
now a neat row atop a hill
side by side
and wooden crosses
casting evening shadows
as the sun sets
we set you down
overlooking the place
where you died
where your spirits
will never be still


(a rough first draft to which i may return... )