Sunday, October 6, 2013

The Viewing

his nose hadn’t been that big.
his face had been round,
not sallow and oval.
his hands alone were
recognizable; their rough
strength knew the way
of the soil and also
the Gardener’s secret:
casement broken,
the seed is the sapling is
the tree is the blossom is
the apple is a glass of
spiced cider or Nana’s
last jar of preserves.
of these nothing is lost
but it’s not understood.
we step forward unsure,
are unconvinced
by the makeup.
of the two, death
is the greater deceit.

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