On this walk, as with all days,
until the moon,
usurps the sun.
The songs of life ongoing,
do their best, to fill the barren space,
you once occupied.
Is it hubris,
to say, you are the best there ever was.
Daydreams of our eleventh hour,
what I could have articulated, differently.
How life could change so irrevocably in your absence.
Why the sun burns my skin on overcast days.
Yet still, here, I walk alone, alongside my grief.
The gentle hum, of wind swept contemplations,
The seemingly truant, cautionary red sky,
leaves space for bright, overwhelming continuance.
Why do my feet shuffle to a rhythm I no longer prescribe.
The wooden planks beneath me creak,
they too carry the burden of weight.
The tide batters against the aging dock,
but a trickling of the vastness,
inside us both.
Gulls take flight with ease,
Their plan is not to live long,
But to live.
So I walk.
In the shadow of your footprints,
by the sounds of a place, you loved.
On an earth,
you left too soon.
D.C.Houston is a fledgling writer and poet from Kincardine, Ontario, Canada. While she is drawn to the beauty of prose, she finds solace in poetry.