a tempestuous storm
blows through
the hollows
of her eyes

whining on the wind
as if a wolf,
howling it's sorrow
in cries of loss.
bereft,
it calls
into
the blackened sky

between the gaps
in her fingers  
the dust consumes
her skin
to bone

where brittle
wedding bands
slip
from her fingers
into the sodden grass
full of
mourning dew

dropping like cymbals
clattering
upon uneven ground.

thundering gales
tear through her ribs
borne of heartbeats
that roar misery

her bones
excavated marrow
bleaches white
in the sun,
dries to dust
and gladly falls
to nothing

her sorrow leaks
into her veins.
while
unrequited love
bristles
impatiently
at her torment


that ebb and flow
wither and die
gives her
solace
in her isolation


an eternal grounding

as loves tempest
mindlessly
wreaks utter
sorrow.

she hears the
wolves cry
  and she is too empty
to reply

why do i have to pretend
that i don't care
just to get you
to care