Grief left the light on for me,
when I didn't come home in time.
I arrive without ceremony—
he is settled
where dust collects.
I find him later,
already comfortable,
already certain
I would not ask him to leave—
and my body,
exhausted,
sinks into the sheets
without consequence.
In the morning,
Grief was sitting at the table
after the candles burned out.
He has made a home in the
small, quiet
parts I once called joy
Grief keeps rearranging my furniture,
and leaning
heavily
against ordinary days.
Grief touches everything eventually
Just to see if it can.