The wind blew a visible gust. It will
Dry the semen shortly, the old man
Thought. “Zelda Zelda Zelda,”
He said still standing over her grave.

Even in her old age, she wouldn’t
Be offended by the act, nor repulsed
Any more than a mother by the greedy
Love of her mischievous-spirited son.

“The heavens, with their airy clouds
That hardly even exist, but belie the true
Austere gates designed against me,-
Did I even ever stand a chance?” he said,

And sighed the same familiar way
He does after every one of his early
Morning graveyard rituals, and walked off,
Checking his shoes for stray drops.

Zelda’s tombstone-portrait smiled at his back
From underneath a tiny smudge- the
Uninformed might say despite it, but
They both know she smiled from underneath it.