Pine needles settle over
the old stones, the nameless ones:
behind a picket fence, birthdate
incised in marble. No death
yet for a wife not visiting
a husband's grave on Sunday.
Here no chiselled deathdate
for Floye Smith, who, speechless,
strapped down, died March 6, 1987,
in a nursing home, her ashes not
here beside her suicide son's
despite her carved name waitingó
So much for plans.
So do I want
a northerly corner here
between a cracked red sandstone
and the Adams child?
It's not important, just somewhere
someone might visit.
I place two
fallen pine branches and five pine cones
at Floye's blank headstone,
having forgotten to bring flowers.