NEW YEAR'S PRAYER

     I hope it’s with more pleasure
     Than nostalgia or necessity
     That you pull the weeds clinging
     To my grave and place a neat rose
     Below my name—engraved
     As though to last forever.

     Then slowly stand and exhale,
     Folding your hands together,
     And biding your time by looking
     To the rose or my name—or,
     Perhaps, to the rows of stones
     Laid out beyond my own.

     Whatever you decide, it’s only
     A short while before your hand,
     Which felt so warm in the other,
     Falls to a pocket and reveals
     Your keys with a knowing ring
     That signals your soft departure.