into the rolling hills of Ireland
I roamed
looking for the green secret of existence –
with your second generation legs
I began up a slate brown peak
while they were putting your body
into the cold cold cold
(and sometimes hot) funereal condominium
and did you know that
the mountains here
look like big, large, pebbles?
the kind that you could skip across the bay, that I see
out of the window…
It’s a quaint bed and breakfast
with ceilings slightly too low
they amplify the big bony structure
you gave to me
and this view is something like
the view you might have had in Nantucket
when you journeyed with your love
toward the honeyed moon…
and probably like the coast in the Carolinas,
but not like the beach in Stone Harbor,
but maybe the midshipmen rocks of the Golden Gate?
but I’m on a different journey,
not celebrating marriage,
but celebrating you.