some more dead poetry

After rereading In Flanders Fields, I remembered a poem I wrote that was published a few years ago, and I look back at it now and wonder if Flanders didn't influence it in some way. I don't think of war dead when I read my poem, though, but grandparents and other family who've died in my lifetime. Here it is:

Morning, The Dead

read the news from home,
their eyes full of marigolds,
their breathing green and soft like grass.