in memory of my late uncle tj...

Remembering TJ After the Funeral

We are as confused as the season.

The calendar insists on January,

depicts sparkling, icy-blue scenes.

But snow sags into pitted grey lumps,

runoff pooling into slick driveway bogs

and freezing into deep ruts

while we toss and turn through long starless nights.

Only the wind yields some sympathy,

whirling mercifully into unexpected empty spaces

that should still be warm from your busy body.

It curls around our numb shoulders

and reminds us that this is how things go.

HMMooreNiver

February 2006