Alphabet

One by one

the old people

of our neighborhood

are going up

into the air

their yards 

still wear

small white narcissus

sweetening winter 

their stones 

glisten 

under the sun 

but one by one 

we are losing 

their housecoats 

their formal phrasings 

their cupcakes

When I string their names

on the long cord

when I think how 

there is almost no one left 

who remembers 

what stood in that 

brushy spot 

ninety years ago 

when I pass their yards 

and the bare peach tree

bends a little

when I see their rusted chairs

sitting in the same spots

what will be forgotten

falls over me

like the sky 

over our whole neighborhood

or the time my plane 

circled high above our street 

the roof of our house 

dotting the tiniest 

"i"