A small in memoriam for Mr. Brown, English department head at my son's high school, who drowned in a boating accident on Saturday, while I was kissing my husband in Quebec.

And for Mr. Stewart down the road, who was killed in a logging accident the day before the election.

And for my rude cat Frankie, who disappeared without a trace before Halloween.

And for Daniel, who made the cops kill him up on the South Road last spring.

from The Fourth Duino Elegy

Rainer Maria Rilke,

trans. Stephen Mitchell

Who shows a child as he really is? Who sets him

in his constellation and puts the measuring-rod

of distance in his hand? Who makes his death

out of gray bread, which hardens--or leaves it there

inside his round mouth, jagged as the core

of a sweet apple? . . . . . . Murderers are easy

to understand. But this: that one can contain

death, the whole of death, even before

life has begun, can hold it to one's heart

gently, and not refuse to go on living,

is inexpressible.