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barbtries a blog
Sunday, May 30, 2004
At Her Grave
We’re skimming rocks across
The water’s top…we’re making
Moats of stones
We want to befuddle and defeat
The crabgrass
And keep every word in sight

At times what I despise
What feels at the time to be the most –
That they turn out the lights
Lock the gates and shoo us out
With bullhorns, only because
It is now seven p.m.

At times I am convinced
Or nearly so that all I want
Is to spend all night
In proximity to your bones, to
Guard a candle through that night,
To still be there when all apparitions

Have blended like sky
Into morning, given wing
To the robins and songs to
The chimes,
And I have learned beyond any doubt
That I need not be a slave to mere time.

We’re sloshing in high tide
Luscious wet toes and glitters
As numerous as grains.
Tar and jellyfish cannot
Even annoy us – At this time
Your bones could almost carry me,

You are so certainly alive.
And I may hide behind a tree

Next time, park the car
On a nearby street,
Who knows what the evening
Of bereavement may lead to?
You stay on my mind
You always stay.

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