the time after twilight is the hardest
a long, empty space, impossible to fill
the only antidote, distraction
yet the silence finds me anyway
I’m still so broken, so concious
of my own grief/sorrow/despair
the days hold too many hours
each one a treasure of lost moments
of evenings that overflowed, bountiful
with bedtimes and grateful goodnights
a lost eternity
I ache from the empty space, once filled
sinking into bed–grateful, relieved
not to carry the heavy silence
of the given day, the gifted day
Foolish, blind, looking
towards morning
with a kind of tired hope
that tomorrow will be easier
the weight lighter
the hours, not as endless
as my distance from you