Gold Tongue

by JP Davies

We are not like the Egyptians.
No treasure to guard
the ghost of his infant tongue.

No half-sun, half-moon
casket lock
ensuring safe passage,

or incantation
to suck back breath
through the bright cracks
of his dead-air tomb,
reeking of the underworld.

Son,
cross-boned,
hold them in music
loosed in brilliant flurry.

Parted lips rust,
mouth glints gold.

Published in The Stony Thursday Book