At the invitation
we come forward to receive
a touch of oil on our foreheads,
a sign of the cross and a blessing
for what we are to lose
and what we are to gain
in the unfathomable flowing
of life out beyond the bounds
of death. All of this
we try to put words around,
although we must fail
to exorcise or explain
the darkness that lies hidden,
as if dressing a corpse
would restore life again,
or a touch of oil
still the tides of pain.
Alan Dragoo of Bethesda, Maryland