Grandparents, Reunited.

She had bright
Red papier mâché,
He, a thick oak.  

Between funerals,
The years, brittle,
Wan, now mingled
With the best ones –  

Dusty joy,
Shared; striding, touching,
Swimming through the wind.

Leighton Cemetery

Left there the corpses,

then the skeletons,

first alone, then to-

gether, their beloved

wives newly carved on

the head –

stone.

Left there the flowers

fade, made of nylon,

or decay, if alive once,

foil and cellophane

are blown away and

vase is

cracked.

The ground is pinned down,

there is nowhere to

be, only thin waves

lap each grave where we

wade to reach that door,

key-hole

free.