A Thousand Syllables

I saw your handprint in the snow on the gate to the churchyard,
I followed your footprints on the path,
Under the yew I saw a frozen dewdrop spider's web,
And percolating through the boughs and branches:
A thousand syllables of silver bird song.
Through the blankets of the falling snow,
Like a single zero on a blank page,
I saw a wreath upon your grave.