MEMORILUVIUM SET: WHAT GOOD IS A WAKE WITHOUT

The mare, in her smart harness

stamps her trim hooves

As you, with an old scrap of blanket,

rub down her legs

Her forelegs. Sweet smell of grain,

sicker smell

Of mice. You hoist yourself up behind her,

the reins you take

In your hands hold within them something

of the mare's mane.

The cart box booms with the tools

like ice shifting.

Out of the barn and away in the town

You see the friends this whole time

you have held.

Perhaps you see your children

playing in the mud

With their sticks. At the edge of the town

you see gnats

And honeybees attending to

the cornflowers and poppies

Above the green crop-stalks.

You look down and you see there

are no leg muscles

Nor foot muscles, nor skin, nor bloodmuscle.

There is nobody

At the edge of the town, in sight of the fields.