when Trudy died

>... Buzzers in the grass by my feet And the soil making clay sounds By the graves Who step by, gentle-toed And be lost, me To know what feelings I should feel When all the womenfolk Are blowing handkerchiefs And all the creaky bones of silence sway And all the pine trees and all the World Expand in loss>..... The buzzing sun becomes a siren The syllable a sybil of still water Evaporate out the lips and Dove-flight Past the old marriage canopy>...... And besides the bearded oak holds Tears, but does not release The precious ghostly field From between its anguished Root>... Oh green lips, he Says, Who opens heart to swallow all The ants on blades of grass>... Oh full of mercy, He says, And places stones, gentle-toed Upon the stones between them