I dug up your grave
because I missed you,
those nights lying beside you
watching your stomach rise and fall
with each sacred breath you took,
eyes open then shut then open, again.
I took those subtle movements for granted, I did.
Subdued I was by the present.
Now as I kneel at your stone
in the loneliest Spring I can recall,
beneath a pale and faceless moon,
holding your bones,
glancing them in moonlight,
I find they look nothing like you.
There is no warmth that I expected,
no memory coursing through them.
You have moved on from me
so that I may do the same.
Yet, now my heart is scattered
like the bones I kneel beside.