Psalms

Without arms outstretched for alms,

His can lay there empty.

A child alights his bike,

Slips his hand into his pocket,

Then drops a coin for the beggar.

I walk past

My wallet,

much like that can

Bare.

Three of us

on that sidewalk

Thought of singing along—

As the sun readily sets

music to their singing of Psalms.

On My Uncle’s Burial

On my Uncle’s Burial

On headstones are names,

To call no notice

not year, not month, not date

Nor that which drew-

A candle lit upon their beds.

Its who they were and what they are,

That made the others cry.

Into some age unseen,

Who knew it was not Time,

That plucked the man to die.