A fall of leaves, dark red
spilling from the dogwood spray
against the deep green mass of the cedar
Is it heart’s blood?
No
Trees don’t bleed
Nor do I
It only feels as though
my tears were blood
when there are no tears, but should be
My loss gapes
like a wound
a desperate wound
But I forgot how to sob
decades ago
The first time I lost her
I wept
every night I wept, in secret I wept
That time
she came back from the lost
this time there will be no returning
And this time
I must allow nature to weep for me, bleed for me
mirror my loss in this, her season
In memory of my mother:
One Crossing
Too Late
Beacons Unreachable
Beauty in the Close
Missing Her
Grievous Loss
I wish I had known her. She inspired beauty.
I’m thinking of collecting these poems and photographs in a small book and publishing it in memoriam.