while science is searching for evidence of evidence,
the sky stretches like fitted linen over the hills
without a crease, pegged to the spikes of leafless trees.
the sun falls behind the ridge quicker than lovers can hide,
sooner than the taste of starlight on lips
that are falling into memory.

from your description of a funeral i pondered
how we flow through time at the speed of life,
passing through each other , dewdrops dying
in unbelievable haste .  there is
no such thing as a circular river.

held in the savage teeth of the clock
we are heart-hammered into the eternity
of whatever comes next.  be as nothing
in the floods.  i can see you clearly, walking
through the meadow of sadness,
leaning on your newly acquired cane.

if there must be a god in the house,
let him dwell quietly.
and so we pass through time
cleanly naked at first, then full of the blame
of our own guile, clothed and worried with age,
and rising above us,
almost lost from sight,

the balloons of our dreams