Those trees blooming in their little deaths,
A preparation for the cold days ahead.
They canopied over the winding road,
Sitting like decontextualized coral
Bursting like russet Earth tone fireworks frozen in time
They reached into me
with those branches they were slowing baring.
Or perhaps it was the way the leaves got caught up in those spirals down
A stop motion tornado, a land-bound whirlpool.
The beauty haunted me.
The glory sang out
Resonating grief from within.
I am made more alone by those upturned sleeping faces
Those childlike grumble moan snores, barely audible.
The rolling road through the countryside rocked you both asleep
As if it were eight, nine, years ago.
We try and light up those cold days ahead.
With life celebrations, thanksgivings, Thanksgiving.
My cold days ahead will not be lit up.
Because you will not be with me.
I will be alone.