Today, I remember that you died.
Not how or for how long, just
your momentary brush with mortality,
a dull epoch emerging with your exhale.
Since the dark, early morning I've known
your absence and your promise
to return, devoid of faith enough to decide
which is easier to accept completely.
Each hour elapses, and nothing
resolves except the quickness of unbelief.
You wither in my mind just as your body
before you, and my hope before that.
Suppose night remained, weeks passing
only in shadows and snow; and, days
hesitate, and clouds sustain today's grief.
And here, fearful and fitful, I rest.
This Will Be On the Test
1 week ago