What I Never Said To The Groundskeeper

I love to see you sweeping by the church.
For though it’s been some time since I last came
To place fresh flowers on her rain-soaked grave
And pay my due, I know that you won’t tell
A soul; you’ll just keep shuffling the leaves
Among those cold, abandoned slabs of stone.
Your eyes point down your broom.
A brief nod to acknowledge me and on,
Across the lawn. You make me feel less guilty.
You help me feel I’m slowly moving on.