It rained when we buried you. Your little boys
Ran and played as we carried you over the slippery grass.
You lay silently, curled in your small bed, unconcerned with
Our stumbling transport.
A weak sun made an uncertain appearance.
The rain diminished then returned. I understood its confusion,
For I too was diminished, condensed into the interiors of
My own smallness by the weight of your death.

Where are you now? This is the answer I still seek
In the gusting winds and chemical sunsets, and as I awaken
Into daybreak. When the clouds gather and threaten rain
I speak it into the darkening afternoon: Tell me, tell me.
Were is he?, I begged the graceful autumn. Where? I spoke it to the
Full moon and the drifting river. I wished the answer
From a field of thistles and a freezing creek.Where?
I believe I could find you
If only I understood the language of rain.

August 9. 2014