This unforeseeable parting, how like a death!
So sudden. And with no appeal. As absolute
as your presence. No farewell or a breath
of sweet solace. All expectations moot.
Not even a morgue to visit. "Yes, that is her.
I know her by her scars, her stiff upper lip."
Missing without a trace. As though you were
some bizarre illusion that had me in its grip.
You who were my sun, my cynosure,
have set. Now in the evening sky I keep
a constellation in your place. It will endure
though graves yawn and grim reapers reap.
Why should I mourn the loss of your affection?
After every death there is a resurrection.