Tiptoeing past the cemetery
Barefoot and free
The 1am beckoning hour
When I am no longer me

Draped in midnight hues
Unshackling of roles,
My body glides in sacred silence
As a piece of the whole

Leave your lamp on,
String lights, windchimes
My pain will wander quietly through
Returning at half-light

And when everyone wakes
I hold on again til night
And tiptoe past the cemetery
Away from the streetlights.