Never (again)

Retrieving a failed poem is never easy and sometimes just not on. I am persevering with Never, however, and have even edited one of the photographs to make it look like night or, more accurately a daytime photo with the exposure adjusted.
I liked 'on the brink of no world at all' but then realized that 'brink' was in another quite recent poem and one can't be using the same words all the time.

Never

 

Possibly because of the churchyard’s remote location watchmen were employed to guard the churchyard and prevent the digging up and selling of the bodies of recently buried parishioners.

The Church of  St Thomas à Becket, Warblington  

The darkness is hypnotic. Every night

gathers desolate sounds one might not hear

that might be something in the trees or yet

could be the soft push of the resentful

spademan’s spade into soil. Without lanterns

on moonless nights, so that their distended 

shadows are not thrown across impassive

headstones, they arrive among the remnants

of silence, perhaps by water with hushed

oarstrokes or comic, hissed admonishments.

It is the freshest flesh they come for, still

young and beautiful sometimes and haunted 

by its recent life. They curse and are cursed

by their line of work, the economics

of supply and demand that turn into 

hallucinations on the edge of no

world at all, the other side of never

and memories of murder  in their eyes.