All Hallows Eve! The sun, Descending into a pyre of branches, becomes a Jack o'Lantern And, bidden, they spring up on the dark roads Steps, and windows across the dimming land. Look! Inferno is in their eyes. Irony is on their lipless, pillared grins. And see the Dead! Crouching like cats In the adjacent blackness, Or breaking our hearts, as they Vacillate in the flaming orbits! They cry unto us, de profundis clamant That there are no saints, no sinners No evil, only sorrow, and they rise, Thicken the moving air Trailing their redolent tapestries through the drifting, dying leaves To grieve, and then caress those of us yet living Here on our esplanade of rubble.
By Ellen Taylor