Staring at the infinite green
watching a billowing curtain
of tiny brown leaves falling.
I'm filled with the infinite sadness of your absence
and the desperate unhappiness in the faded versions
of things and pieces.
Sunlight falls like a quiet, stagnant pool.
I feel as if time has become an obdurate artifact
and breathing is as mundane as the
tiny dead leaves huddled on the
patterns of my red skirt.
To live was to grow old, nothing more.