Not dignified social tears
daubed by a linen handkerchief
hand-hemmed
monogrammed
tucked in his breast pocket, just for show.
Nor yet the wailing of the wind
in the wasteland of the heart
sand-scoured skulls
five metacarpals
clenched in inarticulate sorrow.
No, he weeps in an upstairs room
while elsewhere stands an open tomb
so he is left without
the comfort of his doubt
and must, at last, look inside and know.
This has been a nodeshell rescue