They say that the eyes are a window to the soul,

Whether it be broken or remaining pure and whole.

But as I stand over your casket, somehow I’m still coping.

Despite the knowledge that your windows will stay open.

Then as if you’re sending me a sign from up above,

In through the highest window flies the whitest little dove.

A man comes in and shooes it out, ignoring my fresh tears.

“Sorry, that window has been stuck like that for years.

I’m sorry for your loss, I’ll leave you to grieve in peace.”

He leaves with a morbid smile showing off his golden teeth.

After the procession, I shake the owners hand,

Then describe my brief encounter with the mouth of Midas man.

He goes a pale white and describes him head to toe,

I nod and he states that man died here working years ago.

I drive home feeling like I’ve stumbled on something that should not be found.

But comforted by the idea that my lost love might still be around.