for my granddaughter
Lengths of linked wrought iron stakes, wary
sentinels, cloister the quiet graves.
Wind presses, lifts inside the cemetery,
leads a rising plainsong. Shadow stave
of granite headstones – quarried notes flung far
from the giant pine tree clef – rides
the swell, credo to the stenciled stars,
echo to their spheres. Alexis slides
her small smooth hand in mine – aloof,.
dark, the mass that looms ahead, I tell her,
will resolves as edge and line of chapel roof
come day. Still, she skirmishes with fear.
Kyrie, grant her immunity –
in time, we must construe immensity.