It is every day,
Lived, absent your toothbrush in
The cup by the sink,
The cooking a tragedy
One meal a problematic measure,
Eating alone, emptiness,
Indigestion, unpleasant;
The house a hollowness
An echo chamber where
Your laugh almost erupts,
But no, your grin has departed,
A vacancy, no sale, no rent,
The days and nights a hazy daze.


His being so rare
A tremble of vocals sure,
Might never have been.


The quality of
Light, bare trees and fallen leaves,
Spring awaits entrance.


The diamond splatter
Of fresh shed, newly rendered
Tears touched, breaking hearts.


Today has been that day a writer dreams when words soar onto pages as if they are eagles taking wing. It is funny because, physically, I am fighting instability. I hope that some of what I have written has touched you as it has me. I am catching myself singing and smiling and being almost at peace.


© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan 

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