Raymond Carver’s Grave
Drove four days to see his grave mirrored black,
Broken sky reflected under scuttled leaves,
Tides running against each other out to sea.
It’s just how I thought: the long view down
To the sound where summer water is calm.
I’m standing over the grave while he waits for his
Last true love to join him. She’s already prepared for
That day. Her stone, work for a carver years away.
How is it to be loved like that? Her stone waiting,
Waiting, as if no other love could command it.