As the Day Passes

Mourning leaks her eyes open in dawning hours,
slips my worn sweats over her form
sips my coffee
sits at my bedroom window and asks for rain.

She lingers inside all day, contemplating the wind
as it tempts fallen leaves to rise again.

Come night, she’ll lie in my bed and engulf me in empty sheets.
Come light, she’ll repeat her lamenting dance beneath my skin

til the day has peaked
til the music has faded
til nothing is left

and the dance can finally give in to rest.

Yes—she’ll gladly drink away my days with every rain
til I can lift my eyes and find delight in life again.

But mourning is a slow reconciliation.

—As the Day Passes