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 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.