Easter '04, bench

Churchbells quieted. I sat, absorbing.

The backs of my ears, each a half of a globe,
Took a beating from the wind.
It all reached my toes
Where gravel sounded.

For a spell, I picked through the bits.
I took the contrasting pieces home.

Like bones, however, they are not mine to keep.
Maybe I'll put them down
On a street where no gravel was
So that someone might, on their way to church,
Sense what their life means.