Memorial
It’s absurd to imagine That my death, all this mess, will one day be Commemoration, a tidy object. Yes, I know that’s life and memory But this – my death, my end of everything – Subsumed into fact like concrete hardening So that in a year, ten years, one hundred, This strange tree, my shallow breathing Will be writing on granite, and silences. The sun’s rising and soon those clouds Will meet it. It will be sunny somewhere And cloudy in other places. 11 th November 2018