Melancholy

 

Where am I in the grief?

Turning the book pages,

Lifting shirts from hangers.

 

Hold he gauge to the calendar.

Count the faucet drips.

Watch the dog grow lonelier.

 

Memory is a ride

On the golf cart

Around the field.

 

Five years, ten years, fifteen.

The sun bleeds into the mountain.

No mill worker, no mill whistle, no mill.

 

Grief passes like the water

Underground, tugging at

The water in me