A Funeral in Winter

for MG

Early darkness ; as oil we drip on tarmac.

A gathering in black, fallen from the sky. 

With lemon faces we shadow the next.

Tears empty and clear ; cutting out the jabber

still alive, drifting over cobbles. Arms alongside

too distant and too close ; much too close.

The crows have sent us back into rain;

a brass abide breaks the ring, a space

we stare into ; is that all ?

Reviews

[Becky C Strukamp]

A very solemn poem. I really enjoy the last three words..."is that all?" leaves one thinking.