The Skeleton Dance

Waning boxes strung up high

Hovering over precipice

Moving bodies in the wind

Necropolis sleeps with secrets

Six foot deep in mirth and mud

Uncles laid undug

Your aunt, your grams,

Your parents dance, 

Without a breath or pulse.

Nailed and sealed in pine wood

Crypts of alumina brass,

Some boxed up, some boxed in,

This is the skeletons dance.