I can hear the gentle wind

across your tombstone granite

blowing lightly empty words

words you never spoke alive

blowing still, still so slight

are you wondering

are you echoing

what was never said to you?

Yet whisper does the wind

as it careens lightly off trees

whispering soft repentance

for words too often spoken

Now I walk away

breezes brush my back

away from your death

with words left, still unspoken.