If We Had Talked
Because I never talked to you
and now, it is too late,
things come easier.
In death
your face was briar,
umbra, half-smoked.
Now, framed in walnut,
you have no thoughts
of me or anything.
The rain molds earth,
the snow hermits you away.
Only the sun
brings forth the crocus.
Knowing
that I never really talked
to you, I hold bronze flowers
at your grave, an offering
of peace.
Listen now, the wind
sings in the trees,
bringing our worlds together--
if you had lived
I like to think
we would have talked,
been closer;
that the dark Quaker in you
would not have made us fear.
Now,
your stone is pale as words.
A roan horse
grazes on new summer grass
at the edge of fence.
If you were never,
I would not be...
So on we ride
wondering in the night
what if
we had talked - there is no knowing
or need for knowing; the hand
that touches the bud
does so with love - that
is what moves the world,
what stirs the sunrise to sumac.
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