In last night's dream you laughed
about being sick, making light
of our fears. I heard your voice
but I didn't see you: I was caught up
trying to fix a garbage disposal
that wasn't working anymore.
In last night's dream I stood
in front of a room full of strangers
to say kaddish for you. I turned
every page in every book
but couldn't find the words...
Awake now, I remember the story
my chaplaincy supervisor told
about the patient who went on and on
about dysfunctional plumbing.
The punchline was, she was talking
about her own body and didn't know it.
And in my dream I focused
on the pipes, the broken housing
instead of on the laughter
that still flows. As for
my fear of forgetting the words --
you'd say I don't need them anyway.
You said once that all you want us to do
is visit your grave with a roadie in hand,
pour a splash on the thirsty earth.
I'm pouring out poems to water the soil.
We buried a box, but you aren't inside.