she left her body
just before the day of the dead
two years ago

she dies again this day
each year

her death becomes everyone's death
this loss becomes all of the losses

the fabric of the world is rent open again
but it hurts a little less each time

i am no longer blind in my grief when it comes
just small
aching
wet
something newborn, afraid to be out in the cold world
alone

she lives, always, throughout this. the paradox
is beautiful, even through tears, feeling her here
always here
everyone here
all of the love
always

in grief, we cannot be comforted
but sometimes
we go so far into our loneliness
that we go right past ourselves
and forget ourselves
in everything else

which is all there is.

please.