Before Sitting Shiva
(Day 1,924)

 A crowd gathers inside the temple. I am the outsider in
black. I am confused 

till I see you. You’ve been crying, are wearing
black. You never do. It’s strange—your fabric ready to be torn. I go 

to you, wrap my arms around your wraithlike frame. I tell
you I love you. I say I’m sorry 

for your loss. You accept
my gesture. It is your funeral. You died

twenty-three years ago. There is nothing left
for either of us to do but sit, wait.