Paris 4: For Proust #2

I was preceded to your grave
By three men obviously looking for your grave.
They grumbled and looked, briefly, over their mustaches
At the glossy, grey stone,
At your name,
Before shuffling off, looking crestfallen,
Perhaps to search out another dead man.
They were disappointed, one might imagine,
To find you as you were, as you were not
Making deft and languid sense of our senses,
Of your senses,
Having no senses, presently.
Perhaps they were disappointed
By how glossy the grey stone,
Polished, reflecting chestnuts bound to branches
Stretched above their heads,
Certain that decaying slate
In a tangle of fragrant branches
Would have been more suited to their needs.
This is, after all, not about you,
All of this business of burial and
Tending to burial plots, visiting
Burial plots.
Even these words are not really about you.
Mostly, I wanted to say that
I was preceded to your grave
By three men obviously looking for your grave,
And I wanted to mention their mustaches,
And to confess that I was disappointed
By how glossy the grey stone. I would have preferred
The "tangle of fragrant branches," etc.