Grief

Woke up early this morning and from my bed

looked far across the Strait to see

a small boat moving through the choppy water,

a single running light on. Remembered

my friend who used to shout his dead wife's name from hilltops around Perugia. Who set a plate

for her at his simple table long after she was gone. And opened the windows so she could have fresh air. Such display

I found embarrassing. So did his other friends. I couldn't see it.

Not until this morning.