Like snow persisting through June
in broad bowls near summits
the concerns of the deceased
Lonely men and dour women
do not be lugubrious unless
your severity is likely to lapse
Dwarfed by the hotel I take my leave
a mile up the trail not looking back
the evergreens and aspens fume
Just over the top of the mood
clouds low and galloping along
the linkages between ranges
Not found halfway up the mountain
sectarianism and superstition
like making up words I leave the ground
free of dirt.
Below I leave my heart behind
and say to my arms listen hard
the jays and hawks will return soon
to carry on.
Death is natural but funerals
not so much with nothing finished
give us pills and permission
and another year.