it's just a broken keurig —
it brewed so many cursed cups of decaf
while i was waiting for her
and then so many reluctant cups of the strong stuff
while i was retraining my body to breathe.

i breathe into the sound of baby birds
calling for their mother
and i am reminded that you never will

but for the first time in many months
i can relax into the smiling sun
and my lips pulse warmly
from the kissing of your grave

you call it grief
you think it’s madness
when i throw matches into the wind
and expect them to catch fire

but i assure you it is not

i do know that christmas bows are beautiful
wherever they are laid
and that she is eternal
whatever season it may be