Grief cannot be measured
by silver scales
or the glass measuring cup
on the kitchen table.
It cannot be sold
but who would wait to take the package.
You with your empty hands, stop
it is not train or a bird
passing by the window.
This is grief
and she will know your name soon enough.
Ride you like a lover
take your scent inside her mouth
then she will be gone.
Do not worry
this is still not a train or a silver cup.
You may walk away
but no direction is needed
Lost is a perfect way to live.
Grief will come again.
She is lucky that way.