Absence is still Absence

He left.

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

Absence follows.

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