Funereal

We’re most human when we’re burying our dead,

when we stand on the very edge and peek over,

bottomless and endless fall; and we can’t help but gasp,

imaging our fates married to that drop, with the score

of souls tumbling, twisting, hurtling through its dark shape,

fighting to be born, or sleeping, or just waiting in the void,

as some of us here measure our hearts and prepare for the end,

imagining when it is our turn to fall, to slip through the world

like a tear drop sliding down the cheek of the wind.

And we here, impossibly alive, trying to feel the sun on our skin.