I cross over
Water cold and clear in a placid lake
At full throttle
An old motor boat leaves a curling wake

Currents pool and eddy
Waters twist and churn
And fade and fade


I am interned
For the living and their sake
Many an empty bottle
At a grand ol’ Irish wake

Lives pool and eddy
Lives twist and churn
And fade and fade


I comingle
You hear the words spoken
As often with tears and sincerity ground
As often somewhat glib and distant

A verbal grieving token
A casket, a jig, another round
But the grief a measurable constant


I depart
The grieving mingle at the wake
Tears on the floor whisky in the bottle
Not for the dead, but for the livings sake

They gather like motes in a stream, pool and eddy
Their voices spike, twist and churn
I walk out the door their voices fade and fade


I contemplate
That night in bed as I lie awake
On water flowing and shed, and an Irish whisky bottle
That should have been for the dead not the livings sake