A Single Rose

           - for Thelma Drayton

The sky dreams its clouds.
Their transparencies are filled
with language, signatures
of doctrines we have yet to learn.

The earth, the universe are packed
with such things.  Yesterday
I visited the grave site of a dear
friend.  Someone left an alarm

clock on his stone.  It was an old
stainless steel West Bend
with two bells and hammer at the top.
At first I thought it was a bad joke,

but then I saw how time and weather
had ravaged the thing, rendered
it still and silent as she for whom
I brought a single rose.