The insistence of now

An almost-noir chill day in the cemetery.

A service just finishing, no one I knew.
I walk the line - observer/interloper,
drawn to incongruities, ambiguities.

The way graveside life teems - regardless,
causal. A priest walks by swinging
his thurible, black robes, black puffer jacket.

A child forages tidbits from a mother’s pocket.

An intermittent breeze flaps
the canary yellow tie of a mourner
becomes a metaphor: identity, freedom,
inarticulate love.

The mountaintop an expo of spring snow.

A ginger cat plays hide-and-go-seek
with patches of light and shadow and
                                me.

Daisies cover names and dates insisting now.

A pine tree severed to its stump, the fresh
cut scent intoxicating and guilt-ridden
as any pheromone.

Amoung the rows of marble and granite
a stop-red For Sale sign advertising
its vacant plot
three tiers, a mobile phone number.

All this cordoning off, alphabetizing
unsustainable degrees of separation.

Beneath our feet the herculean ants carry on.

Above us plovers swoop miss swoop again.

In the rising bark of bitzer dogs all our unchecked
daydreams off lead, indistinguishable, giving chase ...

Jane Williams