no covered mirrors, for she did not die

still she is torn from me, a kind of death

these will be my seven days

cover the windows, lock the doors

turn off the lights

when I sit upon the lowest seat

darkness and silence settle beside me

companions without judgment or demand

yisgadal v’yiskadash sh’mei raba

words arising without ask

a shawl of comfort connecting me to ancient home

I weep and am comforted