They stand around the grave
of the man who left them early,
damp eyed all of them
and as grey and chalky
as exhaust fumes.
It rains quietly, dropping somnolently
without fuss
and birds watch silently
from wet oak limbs.

The faceless lower him into the
earth and briefly time ceases –
– Later at his wake
they drink stiff drinks
and talking about his life
restores the colour
to their faces.