IV: Larksong

at least the larks remember songs

each morning rise you’re gone again.

the mourning veils of scattered throngs

depart your wake without amen.

the men who take your parts away

forget to take my silent heart.

they leave a lily black bouquet

whose petals fingers tear apart.

and when i stand alone in pain,

the stems are bare and nothing’s changed.

the birds begin their last refrain

as though they knew and prearranged.

if nothing else, their voice belongs;

at least the larks remember songs.

• August 2025

Submission History

Date	Publication	Status
August 13, 2025	Tabula Rasa	Pending
August 13, 2025	Lochraven Review	Pending
August 15, 2025	Baltimore Review	Pending
August 15, 2025	Little Patuxent Review	Pending
August 15, 2025	Smartish Pace	Pending
August 16, 2025	American Poetry Review	Pending
August 16, 2025	Missouri Review	Pending
August 22, 2025	Willows Wept Review	Pending