the graveyard is daring
hunkers like old teeth behind bushes in crevasses
under trees
the graveyard is daring
it dares the clouds to come a little closer
in cahoots with owls and bats to shine myths
by mere appearance and flit of bats
across the necks of children on lightless porches
as though surprised besmirched by reputation and demeanor
the graveyard is daring
tawdry its Springtime when each tooth beams
like a rifle shot in the sun
the graveyard is avuncular to new rectangle digs and oblongs
and kind to them as sad uncles who gaze at church weddings through iron
and glass Jesus always looks back from
the graveyard dares the autumn leaves land a little closer
their lavender red orange sticks whirl splats of planet tones
like drunk fiddlers
sitting together on boulders and dirt
their wrists and fingers fly like wet dogs whirring dry
but winter soothes its aching teeth
and the stone cutter roams this mouth in snow
he lives alone, now,
his bray is seldom heard
and the graveyard is not always daring
Adding your comment:
I love your unique descriptions throughout this amazing piece, especially in your sixth stanza, about autumn. Good luck in the contest, Sweetie. 
