My loss, at times, is an ocean.
It’s all I see on the horizon
stretched from East to West,
North to South.
Some days it is a river
coursing through the middle,
its banks but soon receding.
At night it is an underground spring
Unseen, but there, silent, cold
Always underneath all thoughts.
The worst days are when it is a cyclone.
Thundering, pounding, pelting me
with reminders of wet grief.
It turns my world around
Scatters me across the landscape
Then leaves me amid the rubble.