and the night sky is glittered with stars.
Air so cold it hurts to breathe in.
Inside, there's a fire dancing in the hearth,
a candle lit against the darkness, and wine
swirling in my glass, which warms
all the way down. Your absence weighs
like a presence—the loss of your voice,
which is hard to remember, except
that its timbre was husky and low.
The smell of your shirts, freshly washed
cotton. Your arm around my shoulder,
sitting on the couch. In a world still filled
with beauty and wonder, how can I learn
to dance again with grief as my partner?