where sadness grows
the grey hemlock knows
some old glory
on the mantelpiece,
a charm, some wire sculpture
with dust and no alarms
just prairie wood gone assuaged
under.

these people I knew and
I do not know, the far gone
conclusion hung in clothes
and shut in closets -
they are old technology now
in attics powered down
waiting for fleas, markets
and continual retirement
until.

allotting some notion
and recollection
and photos are
cementing in, hired hands
for memory, that shaky
precarious thing,
life in organs
eyes taking it easy,
the dashing days
we shared, simply so,
the space
in motion born,
spectators and parades
on the highest view -
come to happiness now,
soon,
under fate and loom.