I’ve spent years here playing with my ashes,
Watching seasons pass and the grass regrow...

This city looks different in the cover of night
No longer crowded with shoving strangers...

Today marks six months after your passing.
On this blistering cold May Mother’s Day...

I went into the bookstore today.
You know the one...

I am not a poet.
No linguist, nor painter of the written word...

2am in the back of the car
Windows down, we’ve not made it very far...

Unsteady room and a fuzzy brain
I drink it down to ease the pain...