—for E.E.M.


This gorgeous country loves to make a summer

orphan or take a parent’s child. The tree will soon

articulate its loss, first flush, then naked limbs.

Geese announce their disciplined direction.

They won’t turn back. What can I discover from

their V shaped flight? My dear brother, you claim

faith in poems to get us through. Here, hold these

words until they bloom to flame like candle, then

turn them into water, sprinkle everything you find

with or without the chance to grow. Who’s to say

the likelihood? Let’s train each muscle’s syllabus

of love no matter the attempts to rip it raw.

The rickety bridge under my bare feet, time filled

body, and yours, is broken, too, but someone

drew its design, measured, cut and nailed. Now

with spit, paste, memory, hammer, grit and what’s

still not known, we’ll mend each part and keep walking –