<~>19 Aug 2003
[you speak of her in both second and 3rd person--in this edit, I made it all 2nd, as she is so very near, still.] witness, the z edit:
Salt falls on veneer
Veiled in pauperâs wood,
The clock-watching chaplain sweats
As I refuse to leave you.
Staring at your headstone,
Looking at its immortalized syntax
Chosen at random by your rushed mother
Who coped when I faltered.
Itâs quiet here, and
fragrant colors are riot near.
At least youâre under the willow
You liked the thought of it weeping above you
And all I can say, in predictable cliche,
Is, God, how much I love you.
I stare
at the topaz clouds,
damasking heavens constant eye,
Wondering as I'm watching you
If you are watching I.
For now, I want to believe--
People always do, when they grieve.
Your epitaph,
emblazoned in appropriate Catholicism:
Words describing an everyman.
It doesnât matter to me,
For you are inscribed on my soul.