Like the Buddhist

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 their dirge

Though their names

Be in it

But rather

I would like to think

Our secret pond

That one time

We swam

A car ride

For Chinese food

Or our beautiful walk

For coffee and ice cream 

The back and forth

Of just you and me rocking

Moving through it all

And to call it out 

As a blessing 

tragically blessed.