Dying old and dying young

                In the picture
                they sit
                almost touching
                forever
                married
                straight
                as spring rain
                as corn rows
                as knives in the drawer.

                She is the second sister he married.
                They buried the first in bridesdress forever
                embracing her baby. Her picture
                hung in the front room
                fifty-two years
                faced the rocker.

                Rocked
                in all seasons, locked
                in the blinkless line of her eye,
                startled
                forever.