Still, physically manifest, blood-flesh-bone
Aching breathless from no one cause alone:
The blow-to-pride, flinch-from-fear matter
As much as any blade or blunt object.
So we feel loss as an amputation,
Limping after, unsteady and undone,
Bent and shuddering as if to reflect
The steady bruising thud of every day;
The weight of hours, of gray sky, glaring sun;
The regular confirmation of one
More blow or slash on its uncaring way.
Your heart? It's not broken, but crushed beneath
The heel of the world: the physics of grief.
-- Infernum hoc iterum
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