You have been gone a month today. ...

the month of my birth, as you know,

the best month to be born in, thanks to you,

everything ready to burst with living. ...

You asked me if I would be sad when it happened

and I am sad. But the iris I moved from your house

now hold in the dusty dry fists of their roots

green knives and forks as if waiting for dinner,

as if spring were a feast. I thank you for that.

Were it not for the way you taught me to look

at the world, to see the life at play in everything,

I would have to be lonely forever.