Grief Sonnenizio (with a line from Hopkins)

No worst, there is none. Pitched past pitch of grief, 
no worst but exceeding harm. That's how grief's shingle
attaches, and soon one grief let to grow turns into a roof.
How wide is grief's house? Who drops in, who lodges there?
And by its doors, thick green stalks and grief-vines curl,
watered, luxuriant. They'd tremble from the wail of grief-
makers, mourners paid to sing elaborate symphonies of grief 
at wakes-- As if to say grief might be shared, broken
into pieces, grief-work sieved into smaller containers.
Sit next to them, share a shot glass of grief and discuss
the proper dress for grief: a wardrobe of black or white,
worn every day for a year? Grief's austere nature is silk
or solids, some stripes; plain collar, no beads. Grief
is grief's own best suit: it doesn't want a boutonnière.

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