Summer shrieks my deep loss-
the sun burns away all blossoms, harshly.
A surfeit of bright light.
We slept that last time-
Orchids and bromeliads watched in purple silence.
You said: do not weep.
I can no longer write.
Everything is poorly made, missing lines.
Somewhere the bluebird’s laughter hides.
The cats dawdle over food.
A young bluebird hops branch to branch.
The three-legged raccoon waits patiently.
Outside my window summer waits.
My love is visiting a dark abode.
The stars outside are silent.
Why count lines so
When the music weeps?
Bereavement is an abyss.