We are going home to mourn him,
to his house by the river,
by the river rocks sounding,
lamenting. The water, loopings
and eddies, carries our tears to the sea.
Carries our sighs to the sea
where terns lift and quarrel,
aloft and winging, flown
into the wind, calling his name
to the thin air above, to the skies,
to the blue, to eternity
where names resound,
resound and dwell among those
we’ve mourned, who came before,
whose names called go before us,
before our names are sighed
into the wind, into the river
calling.
