Outside,

two people hold hands,

and then they don’t.

Outside,

I ask for a table for one.

Outside,

the world continues on

(and on and on and on).

New breaths balance breaths lost.

A crow calls out

and doesn’t know we’re mourning.

Two children play on the front lawn,

and they don’t yet know that

someone

has to lose.

Inside,

oblivion.

Inside,

this house is too big

for a person alone.

Inside,

time ceases meaning.

I keep the light on.

I keep her side of the bed turned down.

God has to know

this heart of mine only beats

if it beats in time with hers.