The landscape of grief

These days

these weeks

these years

create no boundary between us.

No forgotten word

leads to the dispossession

of the common land

we shared with each other.

I still hold the cloth you wore

keep the cup you drained

clean the shoes that told

of all the special occasions

that passed our way.

 

You are not still, silent,

or forgotten;

the land between us flowers

with the spring

a reminder

of the life that was hidden

during our summer

our autumn

and our winter.

 

 

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