A View of Grief: for a friend

Here in not quite spring
green leaves are still
just thoughts
carried deep in sap
and you, my friend,

I don’t even know what
the weather is where you are,
what season you fly to
with a heart so burdened
it barely lets the plane
lift off the ground.
Soon you will hold

your father’s hand
one last time, read him
poems as if now he were
the child and you shall
give him, finally, to
the earth. But know that
in your grief and the losing
you can never lose love,

that meanwhile the trees
will remember how
to leaf and bloom and
that they will be there

when you are ready
to look again and savor
the bountiful view.



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