At the funeral mass. 

I’ve been down this road before
and the old tropes still hold:
magesterial vestments,
paradoxical liturgy,
patronizing patriarchy,
the blanket of cetainty thrown over
          the wild mystery of death.

Yet there is no oblagation
          in my attendance.
I come for the man I loved,
to honor the care he gave,
his warm embrace,
his keeping of the tales told
by the generations of our family.

I hesitate when I kneel then stand
then kneel again
and try to remember
the Liturgy of the Word.
Finally, settling into the comfort
of sitting still,
I begin to realize
how I love this service:
its musical magic of ethereal hymns,
its bread to eat and wine to drink,
its ritual of our common struggle.
The light it brings.

(Title from The Funeral by John Donne)