I'll feel foolish, even in the fog, even under an eerie moon.

grandfather sat in his chair
napped when tired
I struggled for words
if I found them it was after cancer wasted him
and he was buried in טלית and a box.

If I try to remember the other grandfather, grandmother,
it's ducks I remember, by the porch, or dolls, in the room I'd visit, piled high and watching me
or the dog nearly eating rhubarb leaves,
or a boat.  It's a window I could climb in, by the lawn, or half a dozen other broken fragments.
I can dance on the shards
in the old graves,
sing old songs at midnight,
but they'll stay buried.