Springtime on my lips
/
and what of this spring day
where you are still not here
the beating clouds fall into my hair
and the rustling of flowers
slips to sit beside me
i perch beside your rose-colored marble
and finger the few blades of grass
that have dared to grow
the wildness of this ache where you should be
holds me closely
and there is comfort in the death around me
in this place where we have laid you
i breathe into the sound of baby birds
calling for their mother
and i am reminded that you never will
but for the first time in many months
i can relax into the smiling sun
and my lips pulse warmly
from the kissing of your grave