Coming Home

After six years away,
today the sunlight weaves
through plum and amber leaves
to fend off Boston’s gray.

Most things avoid most change;
rush hour traffic snarls
and honks along the Charles,
but pulling in is strange.

It’s not repainting by
the neighbors, or new faces,
or all the gaping spaces
where trees had blocked the sky,

but making sure there are
no majors staying warm
in full-dress uniform
inside a grave, black car.