What Remains

It is easy to count absences,
to weigh hollow spaces
left by what was,
to listen for echoes of a voice
that no longer answers.

But loss is a thief
who will take more
as it lingers—
it grows fond of company.

So look
not back, but around.
The light shifts as it always has,
long shadows stretching toward
some unseen horizon.

The air carries scents
that do not belong to the past,
and the earth, forgiving as ever,
still holds you.

What you have now
is not less.
It is different.
It is the pulse in your hand,
the quiet of the morning,
the small, stubborn blooms
that push through cracks in stone.

This moment—
it is yours,
as much as anything ever was.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​