Thoughts On A Mourning Commute Poem by Christopher Parcels

Outside my northbound train, clouds are dawn's undoing.
My window-gazing is too speed-blurred to note
passing puddles; I would like to judge
how fervent are the raindrops.

Cascading heavens drown the day.
What is the grief that tears them now?
Who can cease the torrents from a sky
that weeps for Nora like her daughters do?

She, like love, was a slow-burner. She, like love,
was the truth despite all urgings. She, like love,
was pure and holy and reverent, a calming touch
a child's inmost fears allaying.

My stop is South Station. Hers is a glory
that revels in the eloquence of eternity's silence.
Respectful of that quietude, I bow my head in wonder,
awaiting all the other miracles still to come.