When night's yawning air snatched her away,
it shred our hearts into strokes. Ashes
spread across the night, painted her an
intricate constellation. We etched every morning
sketch with whispers for her to hear.

I progressed to portray her in watercolour,
swathed in gossamer clouds at daybreak;
wishes for her new beginning. You
remained in goodbyes;
erratic lines, dark smears, angled skies.
Then hastily buried under coats of indifferent colour;
opaque.
Hiding behind your blockades.

The façade swelled with the passing of time, as
I was blind that the stars in your eyes and hers,
remained perfectly aligned.

Now in vain I watch your
yielding layers surrender a flood fueled by ten thousand tears.

Fearfully, I sought advice. The only answer I found was
the most unwelcome truth;
'to come out alive, each one must face time.'
Only then will the cascade subside- with a final
pass of paint on canvas; the completion of a mourning
sketch, and the laying down of brushes,

to rest.