Sunday • Acrylic on Linen over Panel, 50” x 52”

The mirror on her white dressing table

tinged with pink

reflects the sultry sky of an endless

afternoon for those of the living.

From stone towers the transparency of time

bells outward in the color of air, drifting,

alighting at the tip of the white steeple just up

the alley from the dumpster at the edge of the crumbling asphalt

behind the old Victorian, to which for six days 

the gray-haired son hauled furniture: 

chairs in weeds arranged for conversation

the card table proffering the tooled leather box: “important papers”

filled with polished stones, while beneath the ledgers and broken table legs

on the floor of the dumpster lay two pavers

rectangular and flat of white marble.

Layer upon layer, a fine opaque compression

like an ultimate thickening of Sundays from all her years: 

four thousand six hundred and eighty eight. 

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