Crying While Writing Poetry

It was then I knew, through a damaged door.

My eyes beyond it's splinters, I found you laying on the floor - with a bed of tulips growing from your fingernails.

The sun rised without you, the newest phantom of our ragged front porch.

And the wind had learned every drawn-out syllable that was your name.

Even in the quiet it whispers.

Passed rosy eyes and snow, I thought many things that shimmered - illuminated small light bulbs that swung (always swinging) in my minds perfect eye.

I spied what had become of us, with two OK's as my binoculars.

Drifting farther from land with a bamboo raft.

Shifting of Earth, hands unlocking.

Shaking me awake to nothing.

But the sun still rised without you.