The first day of the eighth month


Heat advisories today. Temp around 98--heat index
105 or so. Even hot inside with the air conditioning.
Just trying to say something about this pain--this relentless
breaking of the heart and spirit--this despair.

and so what is this grief?

It is the mouth’s refusal to lift
even slightly at the corner when the eye
views the first crocus of spring.

It is the lack of inclination
the feet have to splash through a summer
rain puddle.

It is the slow way the whole
body moves when nearing the stone
above the grave.

It is the yen in the trees as the wind
wantonly rustles the full branches
of the oak above the stone.

It is the lingering in bed until noon, no compulsion
to check the compost pile or to see whether the squash
are sporting their seed-sprout hats in late spring.


It is so many things that I can't seem to write about.
Can't write much at all. Can't think clearly. Can't think.
I just have to keep trying to get through this and hoping
each day to improve.