Poetry by John Sibley Williams

Not Even Names

.

Nothing

left night’s sleepless wake

.

but forgetting

what is still being said

.

and an open mouth

expecting to be filled

.

and a homeless dog

pawing up earthen roots dark

.

yet no darker than morning’s,

haunting the borders

.

of a virgin cemetery

we may as well call a garden,

.

not even names

to lose oneself in.