the widow

moved haltingly in the quiet of the church as if reluctant to greet his coffin

attracted by some ancient magnet before either had drawn breath

she wore a cloak freighted with grief

his body lay raised upon a catafalque

like proud flesh for he were a proud man

only she could read the interstices of his life

like the pages of a book they had written together

she touched his casket withdrew her person in sadness then replevened her hand as if connected by some subtle lead

later she walked into the blazing sunlight streaming through the trees like the torrents of spring

she had said her goodbyes