I tried smiling at your funeral,
to avoid the choking weeds of grief.
Breathing trees
no longer naked,
their limbs veiling then revealing
a diamond-clear sky,
stood beside the road leading
to the building where your family was mourning.
(When she asked me where you’d gone,
I told your daughter you had
become one with nature;
every flower,
the lambent limbs of sunlight
& all those dignified trees,
believing
you would like that answer.
I hope I wasn’t wrong.)
A vodka (double vodka) before
the eulogy,
& another
(& another) after
it was over.
Then, outside: cold bright sunlight,
dreaming of you dancing;
the prosody of your body,
singing,
your lips the colour of exoctic fruit,
as roses red & white
flowed from your hips,
replacing the weeds &
loosening their grip,
just long enough to bring
some small relief
from the reality of your absence.
Yet there was nothing except
the brutal eloquence
of silence.