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

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

perfection there.

One thought on “Seven

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