Prarie Street Retreat

I went to your grave last night,
in my lonliness and grief.
The solitude of sitting at your bones
seemed so much more comfortable than being
among the living.

The grass overgrown, parted as I walked.
Down the shadowed path that used to lead to you.
Inside, the skeletons of your last day,
your life,were picked through
and scattered before me.
Settled, now once again interrupted.

I could smell you,
what once was too ripe
to bear,
now grown stale.
Your final ashes left
just where you'd placed them,
as though no time had passed.

And though you're just recently departed,
there is not much left but your scat.
I found no solice at your graveside,
reminding once again,
that you can never come back.