A lady in red dances on your grave
Her bare feet are sore and dirty, but you…you are dead
Can you feel her twirling, leaping, rolling on the grass above you?
She seems exuberant that you can no longer move
Flailing arms, kicking legs, she snaps her head at the moon
It is all sinewy muscles stretching and retracting with beautiful tension
So quiet you can hear her joints singing
Is it cold down there?