Like the Buddhist
I do not believe
in the afterlife
but on Sundays
When the bells ring
in the lonely town
of Leverett
And there are
Those I know
Burried nearby
I stop to hear
Not the dirge
of the dead
Though their names
Be in it
But rather
I would like to think
Our secret pond
That one time
You and I went
A car ride
For Chinese food
Or our beautiful walk
For coffee
The back and forth
Of me rocking you
And listening to
the shorter softer
Pearls of sound of breath.
