The morning is still quiet before sunrise on a Saturday.
I stand on my porch, and let the cold and quiet wash over me.
I know, not far away, the things I have feared are coming to pass.
I know, on this still morning, loss and death are coming.
The wind is cold, and the dark may hide us for a time.
I speak her name into the dark, one last time, to feel warmth of love.
One last time, to dream of a life, that will never be mine.