A Requiem, Alex

Alex
Crying, sitting, stiffly
On a pile of parched newspapers
In the scorching Summerland sun;
Waiting and waiting for a person who’ll never come,
And a day of peace that can’t be had.
The rope was hung long ago,
And the wine poured,
So she sits and stares at the rotation of things that are And aren’t,
while asking forgiveness and sinking in guilt
for the errors of inactivity or the wrong activity,
as the clouds formed over his near dead head.
Sitting, crying, wishing he would have waited for the spring.
Wishing he spun where he stood, breathed, and considered the greater perspective.
But,
now,
now rather than standing on a rock with hands raised to the sun,
smiling at the cliffs harmless edge,
He sways with head bowed, and hands limp and lifeless,
While she sits crying stiffly on parched paper of yesterdays’ news,
While bodies are darkened by the sun,
fruit dries on vines,
And a duck lands on a still mountain lake.