You were buried near twilight
and as the moon went missing
behind a combination of clouds,
and oncoming night methodically
devoured the shine, it was up to
your tombstone to illuminate
its surrounds, sprout grass and
wildflowers, as sky splashed,
on your new forecourt, star-sized tears
in the shape of rain, each one plopping
into the last, and your shadow,
having rid itself of you, found, beyond
death, new life as a black umbrella.
John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident. Recently published in Nebo, Euphony and Columbia Review with work upcoming in Leading Edge, Poetry East and Midwest Quarterly.
This is as sad as it is beautiful.