It is hard not to laugh
when you see the great poet
finding his balance atop
the world's tallest ladder
in a pair of dungarees
Indeed, it would be
downright foolish not to.
These are things to do with grief
as boxes are to do with moving house.
Imagine him, his face red
from all that sun and work
and sweat. His paper face
puffing in the breeze
as he spanners the bolts free
and removes the supports,
slicing off wedges like cheese.
As boxes are to do with moving house,
these are things to do with grief.
And what does it mean
to drown yourself daily
in darkness? Here he comes,
on feeble legs, down
the last few struts at the foot,
all that weight on his back
heavy as a black hole.
These are things to do with grief
as boxes are to do with moving house.
In a moment everything
can suddenly be gone
like a street where no-one is.
His paper face is blowing
round the sidewalks of New York
as the subway rattles underneath.
There is space in air.
As boxes are to do with moving house,
these are things to do with grief.
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