It was

the rough shine of water coursing from the cast-
iron pump upon a concrete slab. It was the flapping
of loose shingles and the high shriek of a nightjar
from dusk to dawn. A tangle of sweet potato vines 
crept toward your feet as if to say You think 
your grief is original but what do you really know
of how things learn to sweeten in the dark?
As you've always been told, you should learn
not too look directly at the sun. You should 
learn to trust what stands there year after year.
The mountains. The sea. The outcroppings 
of rock on whose ledges birds and mummies
perch, harmoniously. There is change, just not
always visible. There is also the unchanged.