There’s a stillness in the grief before grief;
An impassive mason laying his bricks
Around your heart, slapping down the mortar
Of thickened, gluey tears that you won’t shed
Since nothing’s happened yet. There’s only dust
And a deep dizzying void; you can’t help
But stare down into that bitter luster
That burns your eyes—you cannot look away,
Nor can you help yourself toeing the edge
And wondering how it’ll feel to fall.