If We Had Talked

Because I never talked to you and now, it is too late, things come easier. In death your face was briar, umbra, half-smoked. Now, framed in walnut, you have no thoughts of me or anything. The rain molds earth, the snow hermits you away. Only the sun brings forth the crocus. Knowing that I never really talked to you, I hold bronze flowers at your grave, an offering of peace. Listen now, the wind sings in the trees, bringing our worlds together-- if you had lived I like to think we would have talked, been closer; that the dark Quaker in you would not have made us fear. Now, your stone is pale as words. A roan horse grazes on new summer grass at the edge of fence. If you were never, I would not be... So on we ride wondering in the night what if we had talked - there is no knowing or need for knowing; the hand that touches the bud does so with love - that is what moves the world, what stirs the sunrise to sumac.