I get the sense when I talk to people every now and then or they get in touch with me after a while and ask how I am...that time is passing...though for me it is not. I imagine that for them, much has passed since the news of your death, your funeral, their return to life. They have had a summer, go to jobs, care for children, make plans.
Each day for me
it is the day
after I buried you.
Each day is
a long continuous day
with the brief interruption of
sleep
Each day
i will beg time to take
me a little bit further
from the pain of discovering
a world without you.
But then each day
it's the same.