In Mourning

In Mourning


There used to be a sparkle in your eye

fired by a vigorous joust with life.

No more.      I watched it die

as I watched you lose your wife,

wanting to weep

but dry-eyed at being left behind.

She would have told you what to do:      to keep

focused on the future,      your mind

alive,      sharply honed on how to spend

your time,      not waste it

as she feared she had at the end.

You say I cannot understand it,

how heavily it sits,

not death but the emptiness it commits.