Catherine Three

I stand by his grave, where praise be, I hope to be laid, my eyes like thunder, cry like the sea, it makes me shudder, from the blue Nave, stripped down like a tree, nothing’s to be saved, here and there a cluster, poplars breeze, little else passes muster, my voice starts to break, it's late for the season, birds have gone away, his face was a wonder, happy laughing clean, that I tore asunder, it's quiet at this place, a place of need, it fits his casket, left open for me.