There was no one there to say a few words / over the place you finally found rest. / Here is the elegy I wish your mother had heard. / It might have helped her know someone else cared.

Ichabod, naked and hulking, / huddled among the tombs, / head in hands trying to / hold on to his sanity.

Dear God, / I don’t want to tell you what to do, but / there are four, even five issues / concerning your work in the world / that disrupt my dreams.

Loneliness overcame her / like a feather pillow / gently smothering / her hope.