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From Passing Reflections, Vol. 1

It’s not that I’m always sad.
I can laugh at jokes sometimes
and even be playfully silly.
It seems I am mending a bit
don’t feel broken through like I used to.
But sometimes when I think of you
I remember with a starkness
that cuts to my bone
how you died
and that you really are gone
and I’m filled with an emptiness that spins me around,
a vortex of loss and pain.
So I just do one day at a time
writing it down as it comes along,
not really wanting more than this,
going to the beach whenever I can
to connect with the beauty around me,
riding out waves and breakers of sorrow
rolling in like erratic tsunami.


And I need to take care not to do too much,
indeed, not to do what I used to.
Because I’ve found when I start to feel
somewhat solid
I reach too far and am soon exhausted.
So I stay quiet and alone much of the time,
an existence that’s fairly tentative
but in regard to a world that goes steamrolling by
this works just fine for me.