How different will it be if her laugh
was fleeting.
The sound would be deafening.

How difficult will it be to talk about
her grace.
There will be no trace.

How detrimental will it be to forget those
sparkling eyes.
They were full of lies.

How Dark will it be if her breath
was fading.
Oh, can the birds please sing?

Find me in the cold of a storm,
hidden in the clouds.
Find me in the sound.

Find me in the peace of spring,
under the flower petal.
Find me in the settled.

Find me following your gaze,
in all of my confidence.
Find me in your precedence.

Find my touch, in your
thoughts, invading with care.
Find me there.

Grieve, and the world grieves with you,
        lose your mind, and you'll lose her too;
for the sad old toys pay no due,
        but has no reason to cause a ruse.

Breathe, and the stillness will answer,
       fake her laughter, and you'll fake being a father;
the gentle tapping of her feet no longer play dancer,
       but ghostly taps fill your anger.