Pietà

Into the church

we few mourners gather

close to the small table

filled with a photo 

of a smiling

young man,

a single candle,

and a golden cube.

I did not know him

whose ashes

now lay within 

that dark space.

Old friends, his parents, 

and so we came

to keep them company.

We pray the sacred

texts, sing holy 

mass to send 

his lingering soul

sweeping home

to Heaven,

but his mother weeps 

in the silent repose

of ancient pain.