An unkindness of ravens sings in the violet
All I have left is the sound of your voice, electronic
Anything I do is a pale wraith of what once was
Burning wood finds its purpose inside our home
Cellar doors latch shut, their bright green paint a hint of spring
Chrysanthemums bloom twice, growing in beauty
Death follows, dreamlike
Each glint of your eyes—a symphony of light
Frozen walks we went on never seemed painful
Ghosts sound lonesome in the attic
Haunt me, please, I dare you
I ate something today, don’t worry
January has come, an endless blur of white and blue
Knights paw restlessly on the chessboard
Limestone slabs get warm from the wood we gathered long ago
Move backwards with me, please, I dare you
Naked, alone, the bathroom grows cold
Out here the sky unfurls itself at night
Paints the road in its darkness
Questions grow like mushrooms near tree roots
Rejoice, our friends say, you have so much to live for
Shadows cast spells among the eaves
Shock grows weary like a dog out too long
Sandals sit unused in a wicker basket, always winter
Slur of your name being spoken by anyone
Such is the way of all flesh, they say, to dust, from fire
The ravens circle closer
Under the blankets, our two cats search for you fruitlessly
Violets used to sprout on the walkway, always winter
Why is disease so indiscriminate?
You used to grow chrysanthemums
You’d like the January light, growing in strength
You’d love it here. You’d love here. You’d love
You did
Photo by John Johnston, used and adapted under CC.
