I’m wearing old shoes
and will for a while yet
the grief still holding close.
Sometimes when the longing
for a single living thing
overcomes me like a sudden hunger
I shuffle from the black mirror
to the long grass, painted in dew
and jerk the mower
into a sputtering roar
as I walk the tight lines
feet slipping in the mud
just to smell the cut grass
remove it in clots
from the black bag
and hold it,
just a moment more
like memories
before releasing it
to compost.