“Asylum” by Kevin Young

Even the dead have their day.
Even the dead know sanctuary—

I sat myself down beneath a tree
like a cathedral ceiling, asking

the leaves to tide over me.

Lift up & walk the place, let
the rocks fill your shoes.

Nearby, the steady
sound of a rake, a giant

hand gathering
what once was green.

Who can wait

till winter, its white
straightjacket, hugging

us together tight.

from Kevin Young’s “Book of Hours

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