New Years Day

New Years Day 1-1-94 / 2:00am

In the still chill of the cemetery
as a full moon wanes in the fourth day
my composure fades.
Sometimes I wonder which way he's looking.
His broken young bones laying there
Earth to Earth, our little angel.
Sometimes I wish I was God
Suffer the little children
to come unto me
and forbid them not.
At times I wish he had some
grandiose delusion -
said that he was Jesus or something
that some day he'd come back
to life,
and the joke would be over.
Sometimes I just pray
and kiss his grave crying.