Oh, but they sounded so good when first
I came across them, and so for a time

I passed them along: may memories bring you comfort.

And then I lost the one with whom I shared
forty-nine years. And then, not long after, I saw

the bench along the river where he loved to sit

and watch the never-ending constellations of ducks,
ducklings, and herons shifting, wild geese

gliding in for a landing and off again they'd go—

he'd sit because he couldn't walk much further—and I
needed to walk at a faster pace another twenty

minutes or so—because he wanted to take care also of me—

because he took such joy in simply being.
No, that first time I went to the river alone

and saw him not there, fierce

and sudden tears punched and punched and did not stop
until, back home, a neighbor with griefs of her own

put her arms around me and held me a long, long, silent time.

Friends, those memories nearly
knocked me right down.