The Grave of Rimbaud

by Bill Yarrow

I visited the grave of Rimbaud

It was pale blue 

like the blood of a baby penguin

Upon its headstone were designs

beautiful and mysterious

like the brain waves of deer

I touched the grave

and found it redemptive

like the law forbidding adultery

I thought I was alone

but I was in the midst of a vast crowd

hissing like poisonous snakes on fire

I had imagined the grave of Rimbaud

standing out from its field

like a single candle in a cake

The grave itself was small

quiet as a
king at the end of his reign

Around the grave the grass was burned
gray and stiff
like the lips of lovers who no longer kiss

I sat by the grave

and felt at home

like bigotry in the hearts of men of God

Then darkness settled
over the grave

like a kitten on the neck of a man

I left the grave and returned
to Marseilles
aligned like a knife in Adam's apple