- On my father’s autumnal, woodland burial. FALLING Leaves and letters Like confetti or snow (My mother says) Drift downward Accumulating amidst the clamour of grief. Silence sits Coldly inside me. Incoherent, confused. Drops of memory- The gentle touch Of a storm-blasted man Remains to shelter me From the deluge of words. Tears falling Into the soft belly of the night. Nurtured in stillness. I’m grounded. The birch planted, leafless. Rachel Graham