Funeral
It was raining when they buried you
Even as I reached out, I couldn’t touch you
where those raindrops could
Somehow they say they are the tears of angels
And sitting here now—
Overlooking the window—
I don’t believe in such nonsense
I hear the quiet rumbling of the skies,
Almost ready to purge out
Its suffering once more
Then I watch each raindrop fall,
and tap on the roof outside
Suddenly—as if in wistful anticipation—
my heart races at the sound
of footfalls
on the floor
from behind me
Only to meet few droplets that have entered
Through the hole in the ceiling
And I break down once more
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