Years After A Young Man's Death

Years After A Young Man's Death


There are still shadows of death in the elms:
in the sky, a progression of blues --
who knows when to reason? When to feel,
or cry? When do we realize the Illumination

of the real? The mirror of ice on
the high rocks, the sun's illusive
breaking of frozen dreams? Enter the plain
and the complicated Discourse of the Cross.

You know grief is an affliction of the lost,
of the dolorous trees, leaved or leafless,
and the cedars. bold centurions,
always with us, evergreens, possessed.

In the blues, a hint of innocence,
in the smooth, uncomplicated leaf,
in the dawn's warm crest,
on whalebone, on seashell, on gravestone.