for Ruth Weisner
We grab death at awkward moments,
our friends a thousand miles away:
pictures and old poems in the mail,
a posthumous volume,
bitter sweet in its delay.
Byron's Grotto, Portovenere,
an Italian Summer,
8 August 1979,
a clipped clear photograph -
you, brown dress, brown skin, demure.
A heap of broken images,
bits and bits of desultory things:
February 19, 1981,
your shadow in the morning,
in the evening, the rush of wings.
-Bill Boydstun
No comments:
Post a Comment