In the early morning I walk,
The streets still and dark before sunrise,
The thud of footsteps audible as a heart beat,
The plume of breath clouding briefly.
I leave thoughts behind,
No need of them during this short journey,
And carry only grief as silent companion.
A poor substitute indeed, for she would run down the hill,
Fast and lithe as liquid joy, dancing until I caught up.
Grief slows me, this knowledge
That her dying body weighed so heavy.
Perhaps that was just the fall of my heart-
I had thought it hollowed- as it died with her.
I return to the warmth of the apartment,
And I am alone.
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