Funeral At Arlington

Those who went before were there, assembled in their ordered columns. I remember white and brilliant stones, the rolling green of grass, a clear blue sky no longer seen. And I remember too this sense: A chair was waiting empty while a quiet prayer was spoken over dinner. In an old garage some tools gathered rust. A folded paper waited to be read. A face was missing from a night of cards. The caisson and the bugle and the rifles, all were brought together for this final call to order. Then there was the smell of gunpowder and horses, folded in the sunny wind, dissolved into a cloudless sky.