There are never more,

of course, always only fewer,

as it is in this life,

so it goes, the some I loved

there are, who will not be here tonight,

a collection of us who will, black letters

scrolled on white tags with festive green borders,

we wash across the stiff reception table cloth,

the smaller and smaller waves, the living names,

among the empty spaces, row on row,

a reunion of the remaining and the rest,

all those who knew we would come to this,

and all who wondered if we might not.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s