Absence is still Absence
His love, once present,
now burrowed into the ground
like a squirrel at night, resting its body.
Or preserving its food.
He said Don’t worry, my kit. Everything
will be okay. If you look straight
you might not see me. Glance up
or down. But don’t dwell.
Like the seeds, his shell was submerged in soil.
Frozen like winter water, leaving
the squirrel to struggle to retrieve its lifeline.
Burrows were closed, protected.
Food once gifted by nature, returned.
The squirrel mourns for its loss.
For a trail leading backwards.
However, while the heart grows empty
The stomach must fill. Going forward