on this very troubled afternoon

Between summer’s mist and winter’s rain,

the faceless, voiceless mourners

recede into yesterday’s succor,

engulfed in the waves which soar above the sand.

“The graveyard’s threshold opens

and we step toward its eddying silence,”

the incurious minister says,

peering into another wandering void.

Light white rain descends in the dark clear shade

as the mother’s ultramarine eyes glance

at the silver white edge of a raindrop,

her blue white tears moistening her black veil.

The sparkling childhood ring she holds in her hand

will one day shine again in the sun’s clear white song.