Mystical, sleek black with white dots, and a drawstring –
Did he know his pants would have life after he died?
This new season after, every day you have tried
Forgetting how he talked, how he laughed at every thing.
Back here, no dead or dying, and the newly born
Wait like eggs in cups, or drops undripped.
The children lustily sing Dinah won’t you blow
When they wake up since their death has no horn.
Ducks honk like semis streaming north,
Such purpose, timing, such a straight course,
While we get stuck on questions we can’t answer,
Simply asked at dawn, blue conundrums by dusk.
I’m wearing Ralph’s pants on my legs like a breeze:
He’s whispering something but not to my knees.