Requiem

I walk past the guardhouse.
The Monday evening Bible study
with the men dressed in white
concluded.
We sang, prayed
and discussed the resurrection.
Where do the dead go
after they have died?
I did not know.
Past the barbed wire
the darkness awaits.
Summer is growing old
and the days are briefer.
I drive away
down an empty desert road
toward home.
The full moon hangs low
in the East,
still following me
as he did in childhood.
I click on the radio.
The public station is playing
Mozart's Requiem.
I turn up the volume
and lower the windows
so the moon,
the cactus and the coyotes
can hear the death mass.
I want silent company when I grieve.
Where do the dead go?

I did not know.