To my late wife
Anna Belle
Is it a year now past? One year you’re gone?
Your wounded life now gone one endless year?
Is it a year I’ve paced these empty rooms
mumbling it’s best you’ve gone and left your pain
behind and left your shattered mind behind—
one whole year, now gone? Gone with your love—
A year, and a year before, and another gone
with your kindness and your laughter, gone before
this paltry, empty year, empty—gone
and gone from me still pacing room to room—
and mine soon gone? Soon gone. Yes. Soon gone.
