When I am rotting patiently where
my eldest, Ben, now lies
And the bright prunus petals are dropping away
faster than flies,
when Georgia has swatches of grey
in her falls of fairish hair,
Toby has a neat condominium
set up offshore somewhere,
and a nimbler, wiser Josh, outdoors
is performative with his hands,
busy as a rock-cod, making something
he tacitly understands,
where will you be, the flamingly
joyous hearth of my heart?
I can’t get the answer, no matter how
I tune up the shawms of art.