the people leave, and you collect the cards,
the sprayed flowers and yourself.

It’s after
you go back to the empty house, the empty
bed, the pillow without his head. The sheets
that will not be slept in tonight or any
other night from here on.

It’s after
the first day, the first week, the first month,
first anniversary. In fact, everything becomes
a first again. But this time it’s without him.