The room is
thick with
darkness,
black shadows
and less
blackness
permeate
everything.

Then the
fog falters
a little light
enters,
and I can see
two reclining chairs
shoulder to shoulder
with my sitting form.

I see the fuzzy floor
and barely perceptible
dresser doors
with a small tv
sitting strangely,
familiarity
edging me onto
anxiety.

I know this place.
In dread I turn to see
the shadowy ghost face
of someone I love
reaching out to touch me.

Her grip is fierce,
and I fall back
in fear and
an aching sorrow.

I wake to the morrow,
as morning tears
slip in drips
down to my
dry lips.
Facing the grief
and the shame
of seeing someone
I left alone in pain
who died
years ago.