January 25, 2020

• mill river cemetery

  the setting sun is painting
  new autumn colors on the leaf tips.
  in the Mill River Cemetery,
  your baby brother sits on a small stone,
  telling stories to an audience of the dead.

  the array of flowers recalls
  a playground of children
  in their favorite outfits.  it's a small
  neighborhood, where the residents
  look out for each other and in the poet's corner,
  a small angel sits on a stone.
  i cant help weeping, although i know

  you are here and other places, too.
  you are the wind, the birds, the sky,
  a river without end, ashes like stardust,
  love never buried.  i run through
  the tunnel of time and meet you
  face to face by the sea.

  "early autumn weather,"
  you say with a kind smile, "is like an olive pit,
  round in the middle and pointed
  at both ends.  soon, in the crisp
  mornings and evenings, on the
  golden wind, you will smell autumn
  moonlight and winds salty
  from half a lifetime over the sea..."

  you gaze at the sky
  into a long distance, your head
  turning with the flight of birds.
  your eyes change colors
  as the sun sets.  you hand me
  a wisp of smoke that will rise
  to become a cloud and turn into a
  shower of gold as it returns
  to the sea.  you smile at me
  and say:

  "we are still together in
  the ocean of eternity,
  radiating the light of love."
  then, after puffing air
  on my windowpane, you draw
  a slender tree with your finger
  shedding tears of gold
  and at the end of a narrow path
  where autumn leaves drift and fall,
  you write the words:
  i forgive you

  • 5:48 pm
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