MEMORILUVIUM SET: PROCESSION

The dark wheel of the hearse

about to turn over

about to flatten

The precise light.

The thin faces of the mourners

droplets their beads,

droplets beads their coats' wool,

Lips pursed to sing.

The rain is nearly snow.

Oh Lord, it comes quickly.
Oh Lord, it deliberately comes,
Oh Lord, they see me, they know my name,
Oh Lord, to be left alone.