Dave Bonta's short poem is about the strange grief of being removed from a place and then being asked to let it go. The opening image is odd and a little bleak: weather "like a committee" murmuring in the land's ear. Weather is usually wild and natural, but here it sounds like a group of officials talking, deciding things, wearing everything down with procedure. The poem doesn't say who did the taking, which makes the loss feel faceless and hard to argue with.
Then the speaker turns and speaks directly: "tell me how to lose a place / which was taken from me." It's half a plea and half a challenge, since you can't really lose what was forcibly taken. The final lines ask "with what cross / and with whose grave," pulling in images of burden and death, as if mourning needs a ritual and a body, and none has been provided. The mood is quiet, bitter and unresolved. The speaker is angry and bereft, and the poem ends on questions, leaving that loss open.