Grief

Grief is not about sad words,
Or eyes filled with tears,
But about empty places
That will never be filled again.
It throws up words, like white wood
Left by the sea on lonely sand;
Bones, cast upon the pale clay of the soul;
Struck from me like sparks from stone,
Falling unheard into darkness.
A wondrous fire has gone out,
and, all understanding lost,
I gaze into the ashes, cheeks unwet,
Unseeing; soul waiting for the dam-burst.