April coming into Spring, births planting wedding-fest
By drifting smoke we know the best
Go this way while spreading leaves are small distinct
Hands of a flowing will that will not rest
Sadness and attachment and remorse are linked
To funeral rooms and forms that serve
But Earth is clean and the sea rises then drops
A hungry bird grasps immaculate bone as it crops
Discarded flesh saying nothing aloud why should it?
This wind this nearly full moon never stops
At the zenith or darkness or slightest bit
Of pale rind shadowed by the half-lit curve—
Tears are nothing to the evening air
Death a doorway for the good and fair

Hugh Hinchcliffe
in memoriam
April 1985

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