The last lines from April poems in 2015, tweaked a bit:
LAST LINE, 2015
It never even entered my mind.
Winter gone, and we are still alive,
hearing jackdaws in Ostrowy.
You can’t miss them—
syrinx and larynx and lung.
My friends. And you, too. Definitely you.
One square inch, the world,
always knowing where you are.
Those goldfinches, newly gold, outside my window.
The music pours out.
Anyone who loves you will understand.
I’ve been killing for years.
The brown heat lingers
and the white cat won’t leave me alone.
I hold a pair of smooth gray stones.
Greek writers praised Donatis of Evorea who died in the 4th century,
a Thursday, at dawn, as oarless as his Nan.
Always, we remembered his weeping.
He wore an extra-large, cold-weather hat.
He was a sacrifice; every tree paid in pain.
Our children are full of our songs,
bottles of water, cans of beans.
They lead me on
while my keys clack down and my strings resound.
The blessed lick their fingers clean, and sigh.
Back when I thought
I could do anything
the light congealed,
too steep to climb.