The sun is, after all, underground
(Down being up and up being down)
At least it was this summer. 

I remember it all:
Square view master scenes,
Backlit by disbelief and numb acceptance.
I remember 

The burn of a tear on my neck, never to fade;
One-sixth of a casket in my hand, still tugging down;
Ultimatum Popsicle's, sucked to the stick;
Pink cemetery clouds.
I remember 

The way you laughed at my tie;
Standing next to wreaths;
I was glad. 

Heard about the final sigh;
Blew us into a tent,
Folding chairs. 

The flower felt strange on my lapel;
Banjo hands peeled it away; gave it back.
Dutiful. 

I remember 

Gunmetal promises,
Latex regrets,
Hypodermic clarity. 

This summer, the sky split open
And we walked through river streets like fish with legs,
Looking up at the gray ocean. 

The ocean is, after all, in the sky
(High being low and low being high)
At least it was this summer.