Under the elms, cars and trucks
Motionless, the hours idling
Her passage assured only the shock
Of loss remains
Waiting

Over the tin roof heat bends air
Three ravens glide passing
Her spirit hovers anchored
By the labored breath of flooded lungsHorses, heads lowered
In distant pastures like statues
Betray their immortality with the swishing of tails

And he, his mane loosened
Flows from her room wrathful
Or benificent, wild-eyed or tranquil
A priest emerging
From sanctuary having stared
Into the black well of death
The fearful light of grace