He is 75 years old and lost his wife a while back.
He wrote a poem that I keep going back to because it images the longing for a lost spouse in a way no other poem ever has for me.
THE REJECTED HUBANDAfter the storm and the new stillness of the snow, he returns to the graveyard, as though he might lift the white coverlet, slip in beside her as he used to do, and again feel, beneath his hand, her flesh quicken and turn warm. But he is not her husband now. To participate in resurrection, one first must be dead. And he goes back into the whitened world, alive.