I

So then, dear nephew, you won’t come.

To ignite our every stale hour.

And with hope and resolve to fill our home.

Anticipation even when we roam.

To cherish you on all four.

Snapped now, to mourn this course sour.

 

Could this not have happened?

(I cannot even ask now

To console and anything mend.)

If at all somewhere, anyhow?

 

My loss is beyond anguish to bear.

And to come to terms why

Has it to be you, my dear?

That arrival turned to goodbye.

 

                  II

Rend,

Rend reason seeming supreme

To find

Beneath it

That nothing,

That is really,

Always,

Beyond it.

 

                  III

Why should the unborn die

And leave the living

To look for a cause?

Is it because

The helpless only sing

To themselves their goodbye?

 

                   IV

Yesterday

Inside your mother’s womb.

Today

Inside a dug-up hole covered again by mud.

Will it be warm there?

Yes, it will be suffocating.

Will it be clean there?

Yes, it will be staining.

Will it feed you?

Yes, it will feed upon him.

 

                    V

And my ears were rehearsing

Like morning after night after evening

To let from the left to the right,

Through a detour to the heart,

Weave and just blow,

Will now never ever

 Feel

Your sounds.

 

                     VI

Wreaths to you

I have to

Bring.

Now

Wreaths

To you

I

Bring.

Now wreaths to you I will bring. Always.