At the cemetery

You stand halfway
down the hill,
weeping over her
grave. Nancy
sits facing away
under the tree
at the top.
I cannot see
her tears
but feel them.

I stand opposite
you, so that she
seems perched
like a little finch
on your shoulder.
I watch you,
study your tears,
your pinstripe suit,
the hat you right
as you say Kaddish.

At the cemetery

You are still together
in my mind’s eye:
Nancy, on your shoulder,
mourning under the tree
at the top of the hill.
You, opposite me,
eyes closed, tears
dropping, murmuring
the old prayer,
an invisible
ring around
your heart.