Sometimes, while walking in the cemetery,

I stop-

and looking up at the sky,

arching my neck beyond its capacity,

I am enthralled by the curvature above.

I can never tell—

Is it moving or am I?

I know that the earth moves

as do the clouds

and I am less than a spec

in that spectacular rotation.

We miss so much

in our normal forward movement;

So I wonder, do the dead, in their perpetual state,

lying in unspoken reverence,

eyes to the sky forever,

see what we do not?

Are the living missing the show

happening right above us?

After a few moments,

I retract my head,

tired from craning upward

and longing for the known.

We are too tied to the ground.