Memorial Day-Ute Cemetery or Apology to Ryan

Within the air we breathe,
oxygen molecules,
once exhaled by
this Civil-War-soldier
become-a-particle-of-dust,
blow into my nostrils
walking through Ute cemetery.

A sign reads:
“area of restoration.”
Surely, a cosmic joke.

Even in death
loved ones
built fences
round the mound
that once was
spirit in the flesh.
Similarly,
we guard the flaws in our foundations
against predators
who would tear us asunder
if we were to slumber
with angels.
This fear of loss
renders the heart
a lonely graveyard.

Yet, the fences
in Ute Cemetery
were hewn
from trees that
pushed up through the
scalp of the earth,
severed from their roots
that they might
serve to protect
their brother-man,
the prodigal son,
on his journey,
his path of return:
his life.
And now the fences,
having served their purpose,
decay and revert to earth.

And, so too,
it is my fervent hope,
that the barriers in our psyches,
having outlived their purpose,
will decompose and return
from whence they came,
only to be re-visited
now and then
when our spirits need to
be reminded
how far we’ve come
and how much further
we still have to go.