Waking without you has become almost natural:
absence of leaves after a storm
branches naked
shivering at a touch of wind.
Knowing new leaves will grow
is almost sufficient balm;
yet something in this sun-streak't room
misses your sweet disorder:
jumbl'd piles of lingerie;
open vials of cosmetics
& contact lens solution...
There is no solution to this paradox.
Your absence is final as death.
Focusing on morning tasks,
on details
with which I define my you-less existence,
I rise
& shivering like wind-nuded winter trees
endure till Spring.
(Copyright Hugh Cobb Revised 11/08/05)
This is grief married to nature. Seeing the changes of seasons as a casual connection to the seasons of our loves and losses. Neither can be resolved because they happen as irrevocably as calamity occurs. The seasons change, even though we want the fair weather to remain forever. Great Hugh! Sad yet Great.
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This is beautiful, Hugh, even though it's soulful, sad. It's a nice touch to read loss from a man's point of view. Warmest regards and respect, CJ