Regathering

In this dream

at the wake, mein Gott, 

a handful of academics and I

plucked images like pterodactyl rose petals

from his voluminous words.

He loved me – Brockport sunflower,

head turned toward death.

He loved me not – Erika blumen of Auschwitz.

He loved me a little more – hieroglyphic annuli

of the moribund bog turtles of Ronkonkoma.

He loved me a lot – Hiroshima ashes

of dahlias and mothers.

He loved me madly – blue planet whale.

Er hat mich zum Himmel gelieben –

wife, frau, life, Leben.

In unison we intoned

always und immer he loved –

the love of Long Island light

for red-winged blackbirds

encased in ice.

The poet?

Ist tot?

But then I wake up;

the chickadee tears

begin to dry.

for William Heyen