incandescence

A grey jacket under a khaki coat
it rains outside,
the notes in my head
are still clear.
Windows veer out into another place.

They are marching.
Brisk against the ice
doors jam, the rake
lies across the court yard
unaccounted for.

I saw her hold his hand
was very small.
Big was the funeral,
a quick wrap up
and prayer, among the
orphan's toys.

Loose change blows
in the wind.
Angels of the dead
collect them,
and garner a dusty mound
with flowers.