Hanging In A Jar

She saw a funeral cortege pass by today. It pulled into the cemetery by her house. It was a beautiful day and the grass had been not long cut. Blossom still fell from the trees.  It was an open coffin. His face was waxy and drained of colour; just dusty pink brushed onto his cheeks in a room near where he now lay.  A lady, dressed as Pierrot, lay slumped at his feet. She was limp, like an antique doll shaken by a baby. She had cried so hard that her body had dried out completely. Desperately thirsty, she lapped at the pool of tears below, but the salt crystallised and cracked her tongue. Her blood dripped down onto the pool below. A pulcinella waved from her broken reflection, laughing.  The nun began the eulogy. "I dreamt of autumn in the dim glass light, Of friends, with you, in their motley love, And like a falcon, tasting blood in flight, The swooping heart alighted on your glove. But time would grow old, and deaf, and pass, And, lightly touching frames wit...