Widower

Knowing there are
many words for night;
nightwatch, nightshade, nightfall

but none for the space
of a halved bed,
an envelope starched,
flat with white,
unslept in

and hands devoid of
a trace of perfume or
rest warmth, a slight breath,
a gentle curve.

Let him cherish the lost presence

of a drowned moon
of darkness long
of standing time.

by Leslie Philibert

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