connection cut
but connection still felt
her presence is all around –
the strands of hair in an idle brush,
a smiling snapshot on the dresser top,
a note found stashed in a coat pocket
he roams from room to room
reaching out in vain, trying to
to penetrate the empty space
she left behind
the walls mock him with the
echo of his own weeping
grief has no expiration date
it does not diminish or subside, but
flows like an underground stream,
carving out new caverns of being
and flooding to the surface now and again
with a startling paroxysm of tears
but the sun rises and sets
life scrolls on
one copes,
learning to live with grief
just as one learns to tolerate
a pain in the joint or
to tune out a ringing in the ears
