Leaves

We’re the gold tongues left
In the mouths of skulls.
We speak for the dead
Who wrote some words down
To save for the end.

We were shaped and cut
By live hands for souls
Who lived in their flesh
Like blue flames in lamps
And dreamed of pure flight,

But knew, knew and loathed
What they knew, that they
Were part of their lamps,
Not trapped and not free.
They wished to ride off

On slips of gold boats
Placed in their dead mouths,
Which we were, when they
Had gone—tongue-shaped gold
Cut with words, hard flames

That still shine from dirt,
Old teeth, and crushed jaws.
We are and aren’t souls,
Gold tongues lobed like leaves
With words from lost worlds.