In Memoria Nostri Monumentum Invicem*

Snow, streaks and dirty lumps mostly,

across the brown grasses,

fescue and Kentucky blue mostly,

and piles of flowers red and white,

mostly carnations,

and a breeze, cold at this time of year,

and from the southwest mostly,

making stiff vibrato from frozen blades

among the flat bronze plaques,

marble tablets,

mostly names and dates with

small sentiments mingled:

beloved this,

sleeping eternally that,

angels guiding those,

Jesus welcoming these.

Mostly words and pictures

cut into metal or stone,

and all the way across this decorated field

I can see you

wrapped in camel’s hair and knitted wool,

black leather boots and a plume of steam

that means you are whispering.

And when you look at me,

shivering in cloth and canvas

with a plume of steam, I know

you can mostly hear me muttering

my own frosty prayer.

*In Memory of Our Memories of Each Other