outliving

friends who live out by the cemetery say

the dead do make the quietest neighbors

agreeable too--fences are barely necessary 

                        but no fences disentangle us

                        from our now and those past

                        or indeed can adjust between

                         how we thrive or just survive  

                        for the dead always stowaway

                        mixed in memory, regret, desire

                         or we're here with those dying 

                         as we may hear (only) later

life exists unceded--rain, roses, blood... have

stayed the same way. And even when dying--

still stars climb, punctuating skies for lifetimes

_____________________

Note: An accidental and untidy sonnet. From working through some big feelings, probably. Funny how there's no getting away from high school Frost and Eliot for me.

Pic: On this bright-blue-sunshiny day, I got a lovely swing-and-snooze in the new hammocks I hung up (to replace the ones we've had since before the pandemic).