I go to the churchyard at twilight

to spend, once precious, time.

I claim to know she’s not present

(If not here, then where has she gone)?

Assertion betrayed by the

        deepening anguish,

restrained by the rigors of day.

Freshly scarred, I brought her son

        to this place.

Here, with the sweet grace of childhood,

He kissed sticky fingers and blew

        the kiss

        to the ground.

Unknowing. Unbidden.

The kiss sailed softly on sweet winds

With breath pushed from around

        his son heart

To rest on that brittle rectangle,

cut from the once living sod.

Severed, as she, from the life-force

Her roots torn, as this hallowed ground.

Six days past his first birthday,

He was with her as life was torn loose.

        Unknowing?

He knew more than I of her journey,

better than all, where she was.

I go to the churchyard at twilight

To share, now precious, time.