Shed the black cloths of mourning for white lilies, gladiolas, tulips, hyacinth.
A private grieving finally in the House. Thank God. Birds sleeping in the rain
in barren trees of tiniest buds that will eventually sprout magnolia and pear blossoms
ladders of cathedral bells. No more panic of not being able to breathe properly.
The lungs washed by rain. The cloths of being unimaginable it has been said so much
so little just rain awash and human weeping for the lost waiting rooms
the man who shrank into a fracture of star.