Dance of the Elderflowers

Poetry by C. William Carroll

The night has become dishonest—

insomniacs and the faithful gathering in small circles;

streetlights humming one sad note.

Feral humans sleeping on cement;

a drunk woman crying through eyeliner;

a man explaining philosophy to parking meters—

I recognize the impulse.

The noise spreads beyond the city limits,

to where a cemetery blooms:

elderflowers silently frosting cracked headstones

as if someone tried to decorate death,

tenderly.

I want to tell the dead that I never understood them—

their answer is only silence with no edge to hold.

Memory arrives at this strange hour—

a train to heavy for the dark.

By morning,

the elderflowers will open beside a grave—

white,

unbothered,

enduring—

remembering, without permission,

what had survived there.

BIO: C. William Carroll is a poet from Scranton, Pennsylvania whose work explores the architecture of memory, ruin, and the sacredness found in what resists redemption. His writing blends lyric fragmentation with ritual structure, often tracing the emotional residue left behind by departure, desire, and belief, seeking meaning in the margins.