(slightly edited and reposted again)
Standing at the Seashore
feeling the empty
My head is concrete with knowledge:
he is gone - six feet out of reach.
But it's like standing at the ocean;
I cannot be still,
lest the waves steal away the sand,
force me to regain my balance,
remind me to lose him all over again.
Sometimes, when I've sunk
into that shift of disremembrance,
when he's still here, my breath
waits at my waist to catch my heart
as it lists into realization.
He is in everything,
everything but his crib and my arms,
and they ache with acceptance
of beauty and futility.
I close my eyes, and count
the rises of his chest, forgetting
he's gone, remembering
the warmth that reality stole.
All that's left is
I just can't get this piece right. I can't concentrate from stanza to stanza...