This is just to say
I cant quite make it
to your gravestone in the
Lowell summer
        
...
    
        I creep out at dawn, 
the Ides of old October, 
to see the waning moon go celebrant 
across the sky in Venus' footsteps,
        
...
    
                    Dear Jack
                    
                    This is just to say
I cant quite make it
to your gravestone in the
Lowell summer
for any number of reasons
mainly because I am
curled up foetal and breathless
a thousand dollars short
and it is six in the inescapable
rainy morning of northwest Europe 
and as you said yourself, 
"I am really Scottish"
and for any number of reasons
I have bad history
with immigration and any kind of law
because it's not 1956
any more 
and as they say in China in
their rain, "If you want a thing
long enough
you don't "
which is doubtless true in their rain
thousands of years of it
and thousands more remain to rain
and it will glisten
right down on the dharma 
especially in my eyes here and now
that have been told to count
six headstones in from Seventh
and three in from Lincoln
but the Edson is on Gorham and
it's all so confusing that you are 
there at all
"safe in Heaven dead"
in what remains of Eternity
but I am never confused in
cemeteries, I read them
like a book
so there is plenty time
when you think about it
and more when you don't 
and I will be there 
among your Stations of the Cross
when you least expect me
twenty five years older than you
bringing kittens and Hershey bars
Ritz crackers, milk and Tokay
and we'll make special conversation 
in the void
that has no questions 
and no answer 
because we both know better
than that
we'll just kneel facing in 
the invisible dark
inventing new angelical quotations
in our respective rain
we'll shut up good 
till there's nothing left to know.