My grief rises at the knowledge of your accidental wounds. My energy is not enough to make you live again.
The light is too slow to reach the constellation of your pale face.
Sadness and despair take over in the thousands of seconds since you left me.
If one year has wrenched blood from my broken heart so fully, how will the weeks pass?
The days have filled ashtrays but I pray for more hours.
The memories of Alea are heaped on my heart. I stand stricken, remembering her.
There is no action kind enough to express my heartbreak.
I am left shut, the quietest of blossoms.
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