On 2nd November the sky flips over,
gives stage to candles, no more stars.
The lights join the pathways,
from breath to breath drawing star constellations –
Perseus, Virgo, Cassiopeia, Libra and others.
Behind the iron wrought fence
sheltering the graves from the main road
souls are lined up in a solemn oath
practising a march to silent drum.
One of them fell out of line,
another glances down longingly.
I walk from our house along the creek,
my breath tamed by the chill showing me the way.
The cemetery sits just under Ursa Minor,
my uncle’s grave is holding its foot.
I lit the first candle – is he a Saint yet?
Is he a wondering Soul?
or is he an In-Between.