Encased in black granite
solid substance she can't find
as she holds the hand of her son
but he does not return this in kind.

Sweet Pieta, sent by her words
to dance with dank, docile depravity,
lies so still now -
and her eyes can't bare but shutter
against such sure lack of he.

It is so silent, this mourning,
not one vibration can be felt,
just that of solid substance lacking
encased in the cards that we dealt.