Grief starts
almost like heartburn
creeping up in me
with uneasy tightness
till I pause to determine
the cause of disquiet.

Something is missing
and the fact that I removed it
or that removal is best
does not repair the emptiness.

Time will mend me
and while it unwinds
I’ll mine this mood for poetry,
explore this mine for mood,
invert this mind to spill
a balm of wisdom
on a healing wound.

Time moves
daily more swiftly
pushing me ahead
forever relentless
but I catch looking backwards
the patterns in its wake.