“I will sing unto the Lord, because he hath
dealt bountifully with me.” Psalms 13:6
Her long dead voice, when the computer mouse
Clicked on the aria upon the screen,
Rose from the speakers to my ears, careened
Through the cochlea of time. Laid in a house
By absent hands interred, her shrunken corpse
Lay dreamless underneath a slab of stone,
Two miles away. I listened, and the tones
Evoked for me her image dim and close.
The plot was girdled with a wrought iron fence,
The marble chiseled with a cypress tree
Set in a circle under a verse from Psalms
That spelled her gratitude to ages hence.
The flora stirred with springtime mild and calm.
All times and places were as one to me.
Oak Grove Cemetery