Haunted by the Weather

Obits are reminiscent
Of the immortal habit
Of tucking notes between stones

In salient ruined places—
Not only in sentiment,
In noting someone was here,

But as it’s astonishing
How many messages fit
Lifespans in such narrow cracks.

Whole lives, like those notes and prayers,
Can be folded up and tucked
Into the leftover space

Created by erosion
Of the walls of what has been.
Imperious Caesar might

Have had a life substantive
Enough to block up a hole
And thus keep the wind away,

But most lives are too meager.
Whatever dates and stories
They squirrel into crumbling walls

Block nothing blowing through them
Into the once awesome rooms
Now haunted by the weather.