It is still Easter, though we are agroundthis monster’s back, tethered to its tail. This is still an island, as it rises in swells,falls in troughs, follows wanton tides. Still a mooring, a port enoughfor our feast. Our Lord is still risen. Still our hearts that burn and yielda

We kiss the person we love last thing beforethe coffin is shut       —Jack Gilbert You lean across the coffin’s gunwale to kissyour father before the rower launches into that long, last voyage to purgatory, while we, survivors, walk and drive onto stree

IHow to feel his death? On the street.The shots. My friend’s scream. One cracked the air, the other pierced the thin veil, a usual evening returning from somewhere,returned from many times before. When I look for where to fix the broken city that I love, the whole towe

Then the Lord stretched out His hand and touched my mouth...

O unnamed & only son too soon slipped from tender clutch of unripe body

Inside this monument a rainit doesn’t want, coming bywith winds and the flag  this way and that reaching outas if the war endedsmelling from all your letters home  wet—they had to be wet, scentedwith thunder and kissesleft on the ground, already  this harves