Inconsolable

  

A decorative basket—

quinces, cyclamens, olives—

overturned on its side,

evidence foretelling a

theft of sorts.

Deafening silence

filters through the cottage;

the canaries caw plaintively

inside their cage,

aching for her touch.

The change of seasons

will cease to alter

the earth—unbearable  and desolate

in her absence—without a

glimpse of her chestnut hair,

the knowledge of her well-being,

a message of hard-won contentment…

the earth will mirror my

awe-consuming rage

 

 

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