the silence

 

in the photograph you are staring
off-screen, face closed

the sky, aching.

I remember how you were that morning,
alive. I remember how you buttoned your coat, carefully,
opened the door.

maybe it’s catching.

I am not that good at being sad,
too much understanding,

I follow a path,
your footsteps there, before me

this is what is important:
the living, the daily failures,

the body’s longing for itself