halloween poetry

i can not tell you now
it was a tall young oysterman
white foam flower, red flame flower
to be able to see every side of every question
and as we walked the grass was faintly stirred
in all things not spoken of
birds against the april wind
and how could you dream of meeting
my son is dead and i am going blind
where shall i find you
braided and woven
when the veil from the eyes is lifted
when, full of warm and eager love