Lament 3
The moment I wish to speak
of the one gone,
that moment my mouth opens and
jagged phrases stumble out,
That moment we’re locked in
this incoherent moment,

caught in a miasma 
of loss, of sorrow. 

Slivers of light leak in
through the screen and pane,
under the heavy blue curtain. 
In the dawning dimness, a mirror reflects 
partially,
a half-open door hiding
what lies beyond. 

I am alone in a strange city.