Closing a day outwardly silent and inwardly raucous
I strode through the island cemetery, eyes in motion
from earth to sky, water to land, past to present, life to death to life
and then, you; you whom I do not know and have not met
you whose life here in its wholeness came and concluded
long before I began that same journey;
there you are, and there I stopped.
7 days you lived, or parts thereof, in 1936
long ago, if not far away
you lived as we all do:
between wars and recession and prosperity and peace, epidemic and recovery
So long ago. I was stopped though by the angel placed on your grave
by some loving hand and heart, in recent times, after all the time.
Someone remembers still. Someone loves yet. Someone yearns to see you
and to be seen by you. I stopped. I was stopped.
And I shed tears; tears for the worth and the long life of love
and how in that still you live, your seven days becoming days of creation
ongoing lasting blooming in this cool spring
long since your infant life seemed to cease.
I ring tepidly sentimental to my own ear, but that’s not
how it feels; to stand here feels affirming of the strength of life
of the worth of humanity, of the light of divine Love and its
lovely lasting reflection in the human.
Little one, whomever you were and are
pray for us who stride today but who will lie near you
one long bright day, that we may walk in love
each day we receive; and
thank you for your seven. There is
One thought on “Seven”
Deeply resonant, John. Thank you