For Robert Hartwell Fiske and Prince

Lately, new people in the world.

Kellan for almost a year now,

Frances since only this week.

We know their ways through life

have only begun. Know, too,

how immense their possibilities;

and the love we feel carries with it

the immensity of what might be.

Lately, people are leaving the world.

Prince on the day Frances arrived,

Hundreds, thousands, more on that day, too.

And now, you, Robert.

We are struck by the immensity of your possibilities—

the ones you realized, the ones that will have to wait

for another lifetime, another universe.

We remember you — every one of you—

and know your contributions had only begun.

Know, too, what we couldn’t have known.

Miss, too, what we shouldn’t have missed.

The winners: the greedy, the warmongers,

the druggers, the politicians.

This immensity of stupidity — its stench

that burns the black bog to its core.

We drown in its slow pulse. And then,

the newborn’s cry, the smiles, the wonder,

the openness of laughter, the trust still trusting.

Robert now gone; Frances begins.

Prince now gone; Kellan pushes his toy cart

across the immensity of living room and yard.

Makenna applauds her new-found Frances.

Logan builds castles of blocks and sand.

Dylan runs the full length of the soccer field

without the burdens of win and lose.

Lately, your loss. Lately, your return —
as though we could guess which new one you are.