For the dead.
Saint Brigid’s
Gravestones, nameless
after a century of weather—
shadows stream
narrow-limbed
over uneven ground.
Summer’s first murmur:
gnats and honeysuckle
cloud the cemetery’s
night-green edge—
green throbbing
and slowly tumbling in.
I sit
with the stones
until silence
abides silence.
Mercy.
How we’re all always turning
back into earth.
From Decades: Selected Poems, available now.
"I sit
with the stones
until silence
abides silence."
"Silence abides silence" reminded me of the hymn, " Abide With Me", and the line, "Abide with me, fast falls the eventide". Beautiful poem, profound sentiment.
Thank you