I Would Have Preferred A Wake Of Vultures (Poem)

she is gone. that is all.

the how, the why, the when are nothing.

they cannot change these things:

the bed no longer warmed by her long limbs.

the blanket dampened by my tears.

the pillow lonely without her head.

that she walked into death with willing hands,

the river her only road of escape,

this does not matter.

her absence is the bedrock of grief,

the hard ground where I have lain,

and from here I have to stand.