Two 2014-02-27

In dying we were born;
new names from old ones shorn.
Some memories shared,
and some compared —
and some like medals worn.

Two lives begun anew
a decade old, less two.
Our age I find
not well-defined
one number just too few.

An elegy each year
alongside birthday cheer
we'll honor those
from whom we rose
our ancestor so near.

Two seconds twined, unfold
a prayer centuries old:
to lose ourselves
in someone else —
console, if not consoled.

A poem for Brown.