Poem

Rags of snow unmelting on the southern lawn.
Those younger ones, whose death turns

on the hair’s-breadth incidence of accident,
avoid this perduration of slow misrecognition.

The far city must make itself known
even here in the sitting room and
barred by winter branches. The skyline

The far city must make itself known
even here in the sitting room and
barred by winter branches. The skyline ...

His feet were stubborn
on the frozen path.
He put it into His hand, then ...

Miracles are not like tempests.
Furlongs are not like hedgerows
though they come close ...

As I combed it,
he sat cross-legged
in front of me ...

We tread the wood in J. Crew,
pluck grey seersucker and navy cashmere
and talk about dressing for the seasons ...

Just knowing those colours makes it safer
already and how they'll change anyway by the time
you, thirteen now, are old enough for elsewhere: ...

The dead gaze back across their special days:
cloud above clover, crisis above the crow ...
Such new horizons, yet they still approach. ...