Easter Sunday

Cold rain, Easter Sunday

Bluebirds diving from the city trees

Garlands of plastic bags are waving from their branches

The air is wet and thick and somehow

Also thin and clear in the cold with the birds

Trilling, the grey sky, new green blades of grass and

In the spring, one forgets that nothing that we love can stay

(It's so easy to forget among the flowers)

But maybe some things can stay

Just because we love them and because

We love them when they die

It's only half a death

Alive and well, an imprint of you is warm

On my memory in your Egyptian cotton suit

With your Easter Sunday eyes

Bright and cloudy all at once and

Eternally new