Villanelle: The Burial at Midnight

I buried something breathing in the ground,

The dead should sleep, but this makes not a sound.

And heard it scratching upward through the clay.

At dusk I walk the churchyard, circle round,

The unmarked plot where no one comes to pray.

I buried something breathing in the ground.

A choice, a word, a vow I should have drowned

Before it took its shape and learned to stay.

The dead should sleep, but this makes not a sound.

The earth above it settles, dark and mound,

Yet still I feel it clawing at the day.

I buried something breathing in the ground.

Now each night silence grows, profound,

With waiting- what I killed will not decay.

The dead should sleep, but this makes not a sound.

I dream of roots that twist and turn and wound

Themselves around what I could not betray.

I buried something breathing in the ground,

The dead should sleep, but this makes not a sound.