She stands next to her cousin's partner.
They hold hands: graveside and solitary.
No priest. No family.
No one packing out the pews.
It isn't raining but there is no sunshine anymore.
She still smokes her Parliaments but
things don't bother her so much nowadays.
She stops resolving her morality and squeezes
the hand of the man next to her: simple comfort
dealt in doses.