Loss

It was a relief when she died.
All her tired bones and achy moans
just slowly
softly
slipped away...

-It wasn't violent or painful
no shuddering breaths
or clutching of chests
unspoken words forever hidden behind glassy eyes
just



Acceptance.


A recognition of a parting of ways
as tender and soft as the moment a child wakes up to a bright sky, and a good day.


The procession was filled with dusky gray clouds that hovered around the turn-ed earth with such a cloying arrogance that it turned my stomach.
The sky was that cool, slender blue of her eyes.
And if I turned my head to the heavens
I could see her smile outlined
like the laughter by her eyelashes.

It was the kind of day she'd smile and say that
                                   If everything is wrong in this world
                      at least we have
this

The solidarity and certainty that no matter what tomorrow we faced
there would be one.
No matter where or how we got there.
And it was beautiful.


One night we lay by a park fountain feeling the air in our lungs and the blood in our fingers
and we thought of all we'd ever dreamed of.

She told me sadness was beautiful.
Graceless
but heartfelt
and longingly complacent.


She fell in love with the taste of tears.
And when she died she left nothing behind but joy and the knowledge that this sad, beautiful creature
had warmed my heart in a way that romantic lighting and days spent in each others arms never could have.

She was beautiful, in all her sadness
and the blue of her eyes above us
makes this day a soft, graceful loss.