Droplets on the Coffin

As the light rain falls,

Saturated hair clings to my face.

Rain ...tears become one.

Droplets intermingle on the surface

Of the cherry oak coffin.

A banal breeze blows through:

Smelling of sodden air.

I Listen to the pitter-pat of droplets

Splashing on the surface.

My feet rustle the wet leaves

As I reach out to touch

The coffin's perfection of symmetry

Which harbors the vessel

Of a woman so complete.

Her ashen face

Adorned in false paint.

Cherry lips dulled

To shades of mauve.

Remote reflection

of her past.

Surrounded by sweet aromas.

Her hands like fine sand

Worn from years of erosion.

In her arms,

Affection stretched like the horizon.

Twice as warm as the sun

But now the sun sets;

The clouds enfold her

As droplets descend

Upon my face.

Poem Copyright © 1997 A.M.J.M.

Photo Credit: Death Valley by Simonsun08