Because She Died On A Late Winter’s Noon (Poem)

I won’t throw sorrow to the winter yet, to have

Grief blown in gusts through chimney smoke

Tears mingled with drizzle down window panes

Loss fractured like hard rime on the windward ridge.

I keep it close as I would keep her,

In full knowledge that this mourning cloak

Provides no warmth with its cold black folds.

I will let it go in time

That time when I no longer fear

That without its harsh comfort I would shatter.