October 

Today there is silence . 
Rich as cream it laps me  
where I sit at the kitchen table  
fingering the medal he won last week. 

I am still now  
all the crying shaken out of me 
shrunk to half my size  
my mind bruised to numb with loss. 

I hear distinctly earth strike sharp on wood. 
try to measure the weight and where it might land: 
forgetting it falling like sand through my hands 
staining my fingers when bulbs are planted  
waiting for Spring resurrection. 

  
Aftermath 

So still that even breath 
spins into silken skeins: 
hedges edged with lace 
starched to spectacular stiffness: 
this morning light so spectral, 
your shadow's on my face 

but not your breath 
nor warmth 
nor any part of you that's real. 

In this arctic aftermath 
I can only see the negative