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.