I do not know

where Mother is,

nor Father, (given him)!

I do not know

where three boys

I taught in school

before

they went to war

to die –

are.

Nor do I know

where PJ is,

that promising lug who,

when he found his marks on stage,

became

whatever part

the play relied on him to be,

then died of what we all do,

a stopped heart.

I do not know

where I will be

after the accumulation of living

finally buries me.

But I have faith

in the insubstantial breath I breathe

though cannot see,

cannot cling to for surety

but assures me

all will be Somewhere

and will know forgiveness for everything,

even unto our last exhale of air.