For Mourning - Marge Piercy I wear grey for mourning, never black. Black is my hair, black is the intense night of the dark of the moon straight up, the rarest wood and skin, the sleek of seals, the shining of wide open pupils, the heart of the poppy, the cat's patent leather flank. I mourn in grey, grey as the sleeted wind, the bled shades of twilight, gunmetal, battleships, industrial paint, the uniforms of trustees, the grey of proper business suits and bankers' hearts, the color of ash. Death comes in as fog.