Mourning Is the Meal
I made a meal for you and me
but my plate was bare
-- save the porcelain
-- one for you
The truth of this matter
as surely you may know
I cannot eat a meal alone
So I watch your plate
and silver fork and know where
this scene shall go
-- as my thought wanders
across the big Unknown.
Today I placed a vase of flowers
upon your burial stone
-- in the rain and
mourning is the meal I eat alone.
::/::
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