This Saturday morning, when I would have sent

my weekly email thoughts to you,

I clicked compose, but then of course

checked myself – it wouldn’t get through 


and even if prayer could comfort me

for an hour or so, nothing can change

your absence, and the brutal way

like furniture we re-arrange


the people who populate our lives

to sort the living from the dead,

though it’s harder and harder to ignore

the dust sheets on the latter spread.

Published in HQ Poetry Magazine number 53