Finely Crafted Ending

The cars pulled in among the old trees

and rows of chiseled stone

to the place that was prepared for us,

all very orderly,

as though everything was under control.

A breeze pursued its own path,

nudging the pines from their nap

as his grandsons carried the finely crafted box

to where it would be lowered when we left.

My part was to say the final words,

which didn’t finish a damn thing

that hadn’t already ended.

Thoughts, feelings, questions didn’t end.

Some of the words bounced off the box

with a thud.

Others tripped over themselves

trying to run away from our hearts.

Even the breeze didn’t pause

stepping over us on its way out,

and the venerable pines slipped back to sleep.