The Dead

This morning
I made my way through the cemetery.

The flowers,
roses of many colors,
like the ones we bought together.

I don't know why I thought he would be waiting,
sitting on his patch of grass,
smiling at me.

When I arrived,
he was of course not sitting there.

But then, I of course
did not expect to see him there. I of course
was not at the cemetery today.
No one has died,

but today, I felt that someone had.

Written February 12, 2005