Good morning, loss

Early, at first light, first thought, a space. A gap. A pause. I’m permitted the brief length of a breath to believe you’re only a dream.

sun-622740_640Beleaguered roommate, I’ve learned to live alongside you. Familiar like the bathroom rug followed by the mirror reflection, reflecting back what you see in me. Which is open space.

Sometimes you sleep late, demanding the sheets, edging me out. Sometimes you get up early and make coffee. Regardless, I’m obliged to entertain you.

Dear loss, my low-grade fever. Soft blow with a blunt object. Empty dinner plate. Passive intruder. Frequent contributor. New black. Dear loss, slowly unfolding wonder, leave me.

Loss, be a different color. Make yourself new again. Compose another line. Let’s forge a deal. I’ll put on a fresh dress, maybe linen. You say something else. Something else entirely.

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