In cemeteries across the world, a great waltz ensues.
Husbands next to wives, lovers and the loved
Shrink and dry together in the great black ballroom.
Earth's pale melodies are slow, soft and slight
The gaunt midnight dancers waltzing away to bone.
The rigor mortis fingers of lean drawn men
Reach out to ashen cheeked girls
Yet they never reach, never touch.
Each waltz is solitary, each dancer alone in his corner
In one corner, side by side, as a worm through the soil
His last living thought, now embalmed, reaches for her.
(He died at 20, she at 80.)
And she has newly arrived on the dance floor
Her dress fresh, sweet, and pink.
And here he has waited, in his dusty blue suit, practicing.
No longer apart, the ballroom is theirs.
Now they carrion together in the dance of the corpses.
Jason is a newspaper reporter and fiction writer. His books include: Ode on a Martian Urn, The Legend of Hobbomock-The Sleeping Giant, The Growing Sweater, and Venus Remembered. Jason lives in his childhood home, in Guilford, Connecticut.