Without You
Without you, everything I do
loses value every day.
Habitual things that mattered,
yesterday,
are hard to do, today.
Yoga in the morning,
even my daily poetry,
have suddenly lost their meaning,
and I tend to oversleep.
These give the lie to any thought
that I do these things for myself.
I do have some small insight,
even though you are gone but for a few days,
of what a dreadful drain it must be,
when someone's loved one dies,
an enormous black hole that
threatens to pull you in.
But, I know you are coming back,
and what I would like to save,
is the memory of a warm day
in Martinez, while we waited
for the train, of antique shops,
hot dogs and Joe DiMaggio,
a warm park bench where
we watched the joggers
round the park and the trains
all come and go.
Some languid talk,
nothing very important,
but I have a hard time thinking
of time I've better spent,
and feel the tragedy
of our lives, that such moments
are so far apart.
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