Bitter, the absence of you, the taste of loss in my mouth.
Missing you so it feels my soul will break apart.
Just a box of you on the mantle in the living room,
a trace of you, but not.
I don’t know yet how to mine the beauty of your life,
to find the traces of silver,
threaded through the bedrock of your suffering.
That, at least, is over now my love.
The mourning dove sings from the rooftop,
while crows caw and chase away the night.
The memory of you cuts deeply,
etched into the landscape of my being.
Another day without you has begun.