What lies in the coffin
or in our empty grave
is all that lies beneath
or what's left to save

And like waves of glass 
scattered over
  their memory,
our winds are
        their whispers,
  as well as our rage:

    find what lies beneath
  this open grave

In my dream are concrete walls
falling in white flames of wings,
and the sound it makes through the trees
  is like a sword shoved into its 
    sheath

    Awakened by this trumpeting
 of silent feet,
I lay my head against the pillow
soft as a shadow 
    upon a wreath

          Somewhere off
I hear my father's voice whisper
  to a silent heart beat:

  find only what you can not seek,
     for all lies somewhere beneath

                                        Mark Reese 
                                                   USA