No Time for Grief

Grief is a knife that cuts deeper

in the middle of the night.

Even when the moon pauses,

wrapped in comforting clouds,

sadness spreads like an owl’s wings

but doesn’t want to take flight.

The moon persists in shining back

under a layer of gray,

to light leafless trees with a sense of loss,

songbirds long gone.

A melodic motif of loneliness

scrawled in a minor key

echoes in the night.

The reading lamp sputters

above blankets which feel cold and soulless,

and even the dog departs

to find someone else to pet him.