Nothing has stopped the morning.

Not even death.

Upon how many graves

and scattered ashes

Has the sun gone down?

How could I have known

A year ago

That my life would go on,

Could go on,

Leaving you behind?

It seems wrong,

This space that you have left.

It is hard to measure

The ways in which new growth

Has taken it over.

It is supposedly healthy

After a forest burns.

You were my forest—

Steady like a River,

Strong like a redwood,

Vibrating with birdsong.

Yet even as your ashes

Seemed to expand beyond my view

A path still cleared.

It seemed short, and hard to see beyond the next morning.

But forward I went,

Because it does not let you contemplate

Your next step for long.

Somehow this new world

Without you

Is still beautiful.

I don’t know how.