Just after you died, that December morning
I wanted rain, edge to edge
the space of every pane.
Instead I stood between
our kiss and stretched sunshine
burning early mist. Alone
afraid, marking the time.
Later that evening, I watched
as they carried you with awkward gentleness
along paths finely touched
by rain's spreading caress.
Much later in that first dark week
I also found the strength to weep
© Marilyn Hammick
Published in Sonnet Boom Issue 1, March 2009