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.