I am here for death today:
the memorial service at a Baptist Church I will feel awkward in--
behind its white clapboards, beneath the white clock spire;
Elinore Cochran, Carl's wife;
he hired me; I think you took an English course he taught:
Elinore died this past March.
For Elinore, I'll mouth hymns off-key, and eat strangers' foods;
I do not know what I would do among the Buddhists for you.
So, Brooke, be here now:
in this field, the stones like kneecaps of people we knew, warming;
or over there:
the leaves of trees I never learned coming back from black to green:
or up here:
the sounds like jewels of invisible birds spilling out of the light.
for Brooke on her ordination as a Buddhist monk