we have our little say and then are silent

Jake, for the record, life does go on. Tuesday 

gives way to Wednesday unremarkably. 

The stars in their firmament behave like stars. 

The morning traffic makes its mindless way 

from one preoccupation to another. 

Little changes. You knew as much yourself: 

we have our day and others after us, 

into their sparkling moment and out beyond. 

We have our little say and then are silent. 

But still, you met the mourners at the door, 

and pressed the heavens with their lamentations 

and tried to make some sense of all of it, 

then saw them to the edge and home again— 

the way we see you now, our level man, 

out of the morning's worship into the sun, 

the coach at the curb, and on your way again. 

 

[Thomas Lynch {1948- } ‘Fr. Andrews’, from Walking Papers]