Memorial

Under the ancient earth

the roots of the trees find you / bring you again to the sunlight. What strange fruit

bares such strains of sweetness I may press of you?

Above the old family home the wind draws you

amongst the moving clouds / the sun breaks

the ripened fruit laying open their enduring seeds.

Awakening now with the memory — your vision coalesces

from the rudiments of my slumber softly / whispering

in the half-light morning air —

the tangled idea

of your hair upon the pillow.