sunlight in the graveyard
carries your left lung
away
in an orange
watering can
sandals crunching
on the gravel
you never wanted to
see another beautiful
day
but the earth won’t
stop for
wounded bodies
especially yours
especially
you in dawn
blood light
this isn’t the
resurrection
you dreamed of
but here is the
body you came for
beneath your palms
is a blooming world
and the dead are
rising from the
thawing earth
mouths full of
crocuses
and daffodils
a hundred and three
hands on your back
open you towards
the softening sky
this isn’t
the unearthing
you were waiting
for
but your lung
has passed the gate
and
you must stumble
to catch
our wandering sun
About the Author
Logan Hale (he/him) is a young queer poet, currently working on publishing his first pieces
of work. He is from a small town in the Rocky Mountains and can often be found alone in the
forest. He writes with a focus on queer joy, and the natural world.
