Poem: At the funeral of a friend, thinking about sparks

By Jack Brummet

 

Sitting sad and contemplative at a funeral,

I think about the firefall of light I saw today
Pouring from a rising skyscraper.
The welder is a star thrower,

And constellations of pale yellow sparks

Tumble from a heaven of beams and girders

Strung with wire and pipe.
Those sparks are like her words,

Falling down iron bars
To disappear like fugitives

In a white lake of sparks.
           ---o0o---