I wore black and rested in poetry
I was lonely without her but her nape
and her name as Grace
spoke to me heavy
like the silence of our big valley in its misty grandness

I wore black in mourning
of myself and a facade
and in mornings of our love
she kept me small and shrunken as I was
in that tattered linen
I loved her nonetheless

I’m wearing black in practice
and I will continue to betray
my softness
until she finds me underneath
our marriage bed