This morning is no different

This morning is no different

To the one that went before

I reach out my hand to touch

Your face on the pillow

Tracing the line of your features

In the contours of the fabric.

I move through the shadows

Cast in the light from the windows

In all of the pictures

Your eyes are still shining

I drift through the morning

With thoughts unformed

Finding so much missing

In the meaning of greeting.

When I laugh in amusement

My heart is still breaking

From the sorrow of beating.

I can’t stop the silence

It feels like indifference

The way I recoil from the touch of a stranger

Who might be a lover

If not for the cut of my language

The edge of the words as sharp as a razor.

I bristle with anger when I should be smiling

It’s not for want or the need to be other

But come every morning

When nothing is changing

I look at the pillow the image is fading

It is more than a memory

A moment of wonder

When I see you lying

And inside there is crying

Today and tomorrow

The future is dying for want of a reason.

And so says the wise man

Who waits in the corner

For moments to bleed

From one into another

Which is when he will say

This day will be different

The first thing will be an end to resistance.

Restlessly dreamed visions

Will still be remembered

But not held in every breath

And I will recall who I can be

From the first to last moment

It is the least I can do.

If I am to find a direction

I need to do more than survive

The heft of indifference

When mornings arrive

And the same refrain is played

Over and over again

In requiem.