I take the long way home after Lydia’s wedding
down 67 into the cemetery off the highway
I stop at your grave where I’m surprised to find
you finally have a headstone—
They’ve moved all of the porcelain angel figurines into a heap, I gingerly peel them out of
the weeds and find the grass yellowing beneath their tiny wings

Lydia got married today, she looked beautiful. Your mom—you know her, she said you were here. a beat, thunder, like carillon bells, rumbles in the south. The bottom of an incus cloud, thick and flinty, rolls over the Wet Mountains
I looked beautiful too
The sprinklers turn on across the service walk,
long jets of white water


I’m not angry, Thomas. It’s okay.


I love you.


.