10 June 1920

Mere memorial
         think of this date
of flowers
         at your fingertips
of your blue eyes
         tinged
with the sad notes
         of a violin
how forms descend
         find their way
into the ground
         your ear cocked
for evidence
         the ash of loss
kindnesses
         of the word
a smile that lingered
         that died on the lip
and your hands
         with which you shaped
your undying love
         beauty—as the poet said
is what others love in us
         love. . . a place of abode

John Lyons