There was the one we planned in the parking
Lot, gearshift forgot
In neutral, motor overhot, stunned sunset
Blinding off the diagnostic complex.
The one from behind
The radiation lead, his hand
Snuck out to my protected plastic chair
Listing finger
To finger his favorite hymns.
The one in the dim drip of the chemo
Ward, the onco
Nurses shushing our too-raucous
List of uninvites. The heavy art
Of giving grief
Some wieldy order finds relief
In much revising, its gravity leavened
To a new genre.
Even grief itself softens,