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

Snow at a Bad Time

I am pulled outside, out the door, off the porch and into that patch in front of my house called the "yard";

I am walking in small circles and I'm saying or thinking or thinking I'm saying,

"What is this stuff, what is this stuff, whatisthisstuff, stuff?" even though I know it is snow;

so, I start thinking "why did it have to snow now? Of all times, why did it have to snow now?"

and my footprints are punching holes in the whiteness and I can see the grey and the black

and the dirty brown beneath and I start to feel better right away.

Haiku #9

small songs through thin wires
cut through the weight of seasons,
of snows not fallen