There used to be a sparkle in your eye
fired by a vigorous joust with life.
No more. I watched it die
as I watched you lose your wife,
wanting to weep
but dry-eyed at being left behind.
She would have told you what to do: to keep
focused on the future, your mind
alive, sharply honed on how to spend
your time, not waste it
as she feared she had at the end.
You say I cannot understand it,
how heavily it sits,
not death but the emptiness it commits.