Waking without you has become almost natural: <br />absence of leaves after a storm <br /> branches naked <br />shivering at a touch of wind. <br />Knowing new leaves will grow <br />is almost sufficient balm; <br />yet something in this sun-streak't room <br />misses your sweet disorder: <br />jumbl'd piles of lingerie; <br />open vials of cosmetics <br />& contact lens solution... <br /> <br />There is no solution to this paradox. <br />Your absence is final as death. <br />Focusing on morning tasks, <br /> on details <br />with which I define my you-less existence, <br /> I rise <br />& shivering like wind-nuded winter trees <br />endure till Spring. <br /> <br />(Copyright Hugh Cobb Revised 11/08/05)<br /><br />Hugh Cobb<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/waking-without-you/
