Without You

Without you, everything I do loses value every day. Habitual things that mattered, yesterday, are hard to do, today. Yoga in the morning, even my daily poetry, have suddenly lost their meaning, and I tend to oversleep. These give the lie to any thought that I do these things for myself. I do have some small insight, even though you are gone but for a few days, of what a dreadful drain it must be, when someone's loved one dies, an enormous black hole that threatens to pull you in. But, I know you are coming back, and what I would like to save, is the memory of a warm day in Martinez, while we waited for the train, of antique shops, hot dogs and Joe DiMaggio, a warm park bench where we watched the joggers round the park and the trains all come and go. Some languid talk, nothing very important, but I have a hard time thinking of time I've better spent, and feel the tragedy of our lives, that such moments are so far apart.