Keening
--------------------------------
	for Michael

it's like the beating of drums
these voices chanting
poems from old files
or pulled from under
couch cushions and piles
chanted as though
their very meter could
carry him up to heaven

these lines of words, some
dearly treasured, some
half-forgotten; I
always thought there'd be more
I always thought there'd be more

a summer kite is floating
just in sight above the trees
bobbing to the rhythm --
who will play the drums for me?

I always thought there'd be more


		-acm   (7/18/00)