And On,

And I'm reading this book about death in your house, where you once lived. Your name and the tears that start in my heart and work up, are synonymous. I hope you are resting in peace. More peacefully than us, those you left behind. Three years today. How can the earth still turn? And I read, the sky had not changed its silence or its shape or its position after your soul rose up to it. The little girl raised her eyes to it, searching for some trace. She walked then stopped, ran then stopped, and finally sat down. But the sky still looked the same, uninterested in all the movements underneath it.