The leaves are fallen and the wind laments
their leaving for they mark his passage
painting visibility on the ethereal.
My face and ears feel a cold breath
face/on as our directions collide
on this sunny yet cold, empty street.
A chime to my right sings winds intent,
his hope to fly till the tumult of his birth
dissipates to calm, allowing him to lie
and rest quietly as a wreath on a grave.
A fine poem, and what you say above only adds to it.
Happy New Year, dear Leo, best wishes to you and your family. 🙂
I am very taken with the image of the wind resting quietly “as a wreath on a grave.” I find this especially effective because it almost gives a physical body to the wind. . . almost but not entirely. The image of the wreath makes me think of something very temporary, like catching a memory for a moment, or looking at a flower in full bloom or the wind in full career, for a moment.
Hi, Jeremy. Thanks for reading. This poem and also “Ambushed” are my feeble, oblique attempts to address Sandy Hook only for myself. That is about all we can do, I guess. I haven’t written or read hardly anything in the last week or so but I will get back in the mood, I am sure! Take care. Leo
Belated Words 
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