Last Look

by David Cope

the room is silent, empty but
            for the bier. she lies, sheet
draped over her body —

            she is so small in death —

            the head tilted back, eyelids,
aquiline nose, cupid’s bow lips, skin
            translucent, alabaster

            yet still lovely — we are

in tears. my lips touch her
            forehead goodbye — cold,
heat & struggle all

            gone in the waiting day.