As the rain trickles down,
A weeping crowd gathers to mourn,
Circling around a hole in the dirt.
Umbrellas and raincoats in shades of black,
Tear-streaked faces hidden behind veils,
A holy man tries to comfort the loss.

Far away family is at a loss,
Why couldn’t they make it down?
At least for the unveiling
Of the body this morning.
On the drive to the mortuary, the skies turn black,
Rain making mud of the once dry dirt.

Somehow, seeing the dirt,
I remember sitting in his garden thinking hope was lost.
He would tell me that even the black
Storm clouds never fall all the way down.
My favorite memory is the morning
He gave me his mother’s wedding veil.

We arrive at the mortuary, and the veil
Is pulled off the coffin. The dirt
That seemed to always be under his nails from early morning
Gardening, gone, the smiling twinkle in his eyes-lost.
I kneel beside him, looking sown,
There he is so serious in his tuxedo of black.

Small bags under his eyes, blue and black
In color, his face pale as if draped with a veil.
The lining of his eternal bed, a soft, silk covered down.
Everything so sterile, not a speck of dirt
Anywhere. I seem to be lost
In memories of his smile on spring mornings.

The procession of cars even seems to mourn.
The lead car, carrying him, the long, black
Hearse. Tombstones of the forgotten and lost
Loom atop the hill. Cobwebs gently veiling
The names of long ago. The coffin is lowered in the dirt.
We stand praying as it goes down.

Down, to join the nameless veiled,
Down, to drown in dirt,
Down, to disappear. Down…down…down.