A year ago or this moment,a day before and this hour,
sitting and waiting as usual,
I wondered at the pointlessness of my
old promise:
the day you go, I stop living too!
for I continue to be, even now
gazing at a far away distance,
watching the hazy purple horizon
as it swallowed the orange ball of bliss.
and I observed that man,
bending over his work,
beads of sweat gathered
on the wrinkled forehead,
chapped palm, strained,
but after a day’s toil
fatigued and bones aching
he is going home with a smile.
For his wife is waiting for him
at the dinner table.
Dead; but death doesn't mean absence,
and she continues to be!
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