Make Each Day Count
by Michael Chitwood
On the way to the memorial service
it started to snow,
blanking our view of the moon's afternoon ghost,
cold clock so white it was blue.
The speakers' voices caught.
They had to pause to continue.
Beneath the lauds,
the talk of deep friendship
and a life well-lived,
we heard the rasp
of the maintenance crew's shovels,
having had to come in on a Saturday.
please note: art by Dan Bush