Obsequies

Early mornings escape me
when the night weighs heavy
on your side.

Routines have become
empty moments where
gestures have replaced thought,
and every movement of lips
a prayer to forget
your name.

We move with care,
a life without flowers,
where photos are searched in secret
and weekends are filled
with you behind closed doors.

The candles have been boxed
away
to extinguish a life
still pacing these halls.

Late nights, early mornings,
schedule days full
of breath and
abstraction.

But we all see
when you ripple across
faces turned to
walls, windows, distance.

But what to do,
when every day has become
a ritual of you