Mass Grave
by Kenjiro Kurpiel

    Ragtag gypsies dance in the wind,
    their brown shawls hide them
    their red cloaks.
    their orange skin

    Crushed underfoot,
    decaying bodies gather.
    In piles, in drifts,
    the dead are swept in
    as common garbage,
    while others are burned
    by the thousands,
    in funeral pyres.
    Most of the vagabonds fall
    to rot away the winter
    under snow and sleet.

    A short nomadic gathering,
    they dance into the earth
    they jig into deaths door
    they spin in final pirouettes.

    Months later
    in true reincarnation,
    they are born again
    all as green children
    with no adults.
    Working from their only birthday
    until they day they dance.

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