It should not be, but it is so
That she has died and I survive.
It seems to me that she should live
And I should be the one to go.
Whatever god may be in charge
Has erred. I should have been the one
First coffined if justice had been done.
Instead I’m left to drone a dirge
For her. Moaning with my sorrow
I stir my dogs to sympathy.
They take my lap to comfort me
And bid me live for some tomorrow
Whose emptiness echoes with the noise
Of words she spoke a long time since
That I remember hearing once
When the air still quivered with her voice.