Lost time

As the sun fell, brushing the western horizon and drawing long shadows from the tree line like arms pulling night over him, he drove away and committed to the road for most of the summer, losing himself in an aimless pilgrimage until calamitous news called him back, and upon arriving, he was guided through the murmurs of muffled rites to the chancel floor, and leaning down he reached for her and said he was sorry, as most knew he was, and they led him through the Virgin’s protocols and the priest’s rites, holding him tightly as they knew his legs would buckle under the weight of his deadened heart when the bell tolled, and they buckled, and they held him and carried him through the incense steaming procession funneling through the astonished gazes of many onlookers at that minuscule coffin, and having finally reached the burial site he tended to her hair gently, and no one could really hear what he sang before the casket was shut and she was lowered.