WASHING BLANKETS

 

"WASHING BLANKETS"

I am here,

writing these words

because you,

in every tangible way,

no longer

reside on this earth.

There is no one else that knows

this pain, as intimately palpate 

of and for you

(yearning, mourning)

tears fall

to the

earth

that holds

YOU.

Lost in mourning,

in mint-condition-memories,

where you are vivid and free;

where there was no YOU and I;

only we.

Tears just clear out the clutter,

the sadness that has built up

like dust,

over time.

I know little of certainty,

in this, novel-normal,

where there is too much

of me,

and not enough of you.