For Late Life

From the damp fields north of your house,
Where we wished we could be with you
To grieve as the spring cut the soil

And the tears cut tracks in your cheeks
Down from grey eyes worn thin as coins,
You chose scenes full of gaps, too large

For you to cope with, sheets of rain,
Words you used in place of the words
You could not find to say to us.

When that died, you put in the ground
All that you knew might well have been,
The child of the hours that you stowed

To take care of our souls for good.
No one will know where you came from
Now that you’ve gone, once we are gone.