A fall of leaves, dark red
               spilling from the dogwood spray
                    against the deep green mass of the cedar

          Is it heart’s blood?

          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:
Beauty in the Close
Beacons Unreachable
Too Late
One Crossing
Grievous Loss



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