1914-2006

In that field
where your body will mix with dirt
and women in black
wipe mud off their skirts
you will lie, after seven years without
your man because
he died
but now the sweet divide
erases the dying and
moments when you cried

I saw blue skies above your tomb
cruelest month? No.
this mystery of Easter
in springtime I
envy the dead

And I’ve been dead too
but I saw blue skies and tulips
today at your funeral