I find myself half past.
Painting images of you with red wine.

I wander through the garden again.
Weeding out memories of you.
Rubbing poison on my lips.

I thought the shape of your face was one more piece
of the unfinished puzzle.

I thought the color of your eyes was the color of my heart, pale
and fading blue.

I thought about you yesterday.
At least it wasn’t all day.

There was that moment
when a bee stung me.  Then flew away to die.