Black and white
Photos floating, spiral of images. Never like it when this film noir starts in my head. The wrong music on the radio, the light in the sky fading through trees, the wind changing course, everything turning pale and chill.
We stand, quiet, in a half circle, dirt beneath our feet. Linked by blood, separated by death. He lies, quiet, in a box, lined in silk, eyes forever closed.
My heart beating. His heart still.
My heart breaking. His heart gone.
My life ending. His life a memory.
Clumps of dirt surround the deep chasm. Too much earth, hole too big. Box sinking down into the cotton quiet ground, earth swallowing human.
Dust to dust. We say it because we must—
Find a way to forget, the knife in our chest—
Ashes to ashes. The wind blows where it will—
And the journey of the spirit, we cannot follow. Never like the songs that played on the day my blood all went their separate ways. Never liked the car that brought me here or took me away.
Never cried, because he remained in my dark nights, in my heart. Even though the live blood all faded away. The blood that died never left.
