By Sherod Santos
(posted Wednesday, Jan. 7)
To hear the poet read “Spring Elegy,” click here.
All morning in class that hollow feeling of how little
we are left to say; and then, a few hours later,
while I was downstairs checking the afternoon mail,
someone came in and laid out neatly on my office desk
a black-and-white photograph, a sprig of forsythia,
and a tenth share of his ashes in a smoked glass vial.
