We wound our way
through side streets—
a coffin caravan,
hazard lights parade.
A man planting trees in a
manicured lawn put down
his shovel, stopped digging
the hole as we
made our way to another,
stood up, and placed
his hand over his
heart as we passed.
Can you make a better eulogy
than this silent stranger whose wife
walked out and watched him
watching us?
Twice in my life
have I seen a god:
once in the airplane bathroom mirror
during the panic attack,
and once on a front lawn
next to a hole dug
for something
still living.
