1. Working
dark annuals;
polished and ungrazed.
crisp lines sagging,
I pasture them
below the table,
recollect
their pensioned trudge;
my hands do
all the lifting.
2. Walking
the boots lathered on my feet,
aching wheels—
they fell,
soles sinking from
their body, one
year after plundering
a windy coast track.
laced under,
stretchered to the view
in loose steps,
embalmed in dirt.
their ashes
could have found
a hearth
in heights.
3. Wandering
my passports,
unclasped
at corners.
counsel, blunt string.
my married pair
succumbs.
they will find
burial at home.
