Setting the table for two –

I make a fresh pot of tea.

Absent mindedly my hand traces,

the floral design on the tablecloth.

I open the door to welcome you –

seating you at the table, I pour.

You sit still,

eyes locked with mine,

I feel your hands reach out and find mine,

firm clasp, enveloping warmth.

Longing brings tears,

one loss dissolving into other losses.

Outside,

light changes into shadows.

As you prepare to leave,

I invite you to visit me,

entering through the front door.

No more seeping through the cracks in windows,

and floating on smells and sounds.

Grief, you are welcome.

May 25, 2018