The Only Place You Know

The soil and grass were wet with
the dew of the morning. Crystals of
water sprinkled in the mist as
the morning sun ate the fog covering
the grave markers; tall and silent -
holding there spines straight and strong
for the living.

Fresh dirt fills the smell of the air;
soil and the making of men.

She spoke with words that
trembled on like hell at the end of time.

"He was a good man", she told me,
"Like most the good and the dead
he had to be the last to leave and
never a friend or a body left behind."

That was all she said.
The sun wore on us in its way.

If i could, i would have held her hand.