The Light Finding his Name
She—standing lean and determined
at the foot of death
folding and unfolding her arms
over the remains of his life
then bending her pain
into the cold winter of deceit--
places flowers where his head should be.
He—wearing the farm suit of hard work
and old faith but cursing the purple
heart wound that buried
their only son without public witness
deep in the back shadows
of his own country—cracks ice
off granite to let the light find his name.