in the curled photograph
she stands beside a waterfall,
supple brown as a sapling
pulling forward from
his outstretched hand
she smiles joy, her eyes
a brilliant echo of
forest's endless green
his face reflects hers;
light ricochets between
like sun through leaves
hope visible as
dark stone shining
wet beneath their feet
grief arrives this morning;
three years, five months late
she leans into the sorrow
of things missed;
the man in the photograph
gone before she was
able to remember
it is the saddest part
of losing him
