The End of the Temple of
Tears
all I have left of you
are two pictures
one of you framed in the sliding glass window
right in front of me
another of you
taken somewhere in the labyrinth of
seven years of submerged agony over your death
have left me less than whole
your sweet voice still tingles beside my left ear
whispering advice when I am at impasse
sometimes I see you standing in front of me
angry at my unwillingness to rise out of my pathos
the lovely focused intensity
that made me love you so much
whirling around your eyes
today I saw a single yellow crocus
that had broken through the damp spring soil
and I thought of you
I decided to swear an oath to
you
that my years of penance in the temple of tears
were finished
and that I would begin to live life again
just like you’ve been advising me to do
all these undisturbed years
that have somehow passed me by
are dust in the wind
but the sun will rise tomorrow
and I will stretch out on the cool emerging grass
and remember the light touch of your graceful hand
and I will persevere