I heard about your loss and am sorry for it,

even if the Berlin woman was past hope:

a life of acetic sourness obdurately borne.

I think your grandmother was the same,

using grievance to demand respect, blind

to the irony it doesn't come that way

or is not worth having if it does,

so that (your Blake knew this) the wrath

doth grow. But you understand that.

And I am conscious I'm not serving you

except with platitudes: death always stings

and your dear wife will be awash with guilt

as daughters will at times like this. It happens.

I'm flattered of course that you're

not flying off (hard for you either way),

and that we will continue our conversations.

I wasn't going to tell you this,

but I'm beginning to have a sneaking regard …