Not far from the cove, the stones worn smooth
from the tides weeping, the salted breeze, removed
from all tranquility, is the grand windowed house.
The ashes will be spread on the beloved soil,
the October browning still green to cover
this assembly of forgetfulness.
The house awaits the noises of the feast,
the jeer, the final clearing until the
kitchen closes to just a memory.
At the last echo, the appraisers spread
the ghostly sheets over all the will requires
for the final inheritance of some other lives.