On the Death of a Friend
The blue-green field that lay across
the way is divided by rows of barren trees:
a peach orchard, perfectly trimmed. The frost
hasn’t settled in yet gone are the thick leaves.
Your grave lay open, your casket suspended, unreal.
Family and friends gather, stand together;
the long exhausting wait is over. All feel
the slow turn of something that can never
return. The evening light recedes across
the green ascending field and sleeping orchard
casting long shadows. But nothing is lost
forever, we hope, and as we walk toward
the long row of parked cars, speechless,
an autumn breeze carries the scent of peaches.
– Bill Cook