The day after is not so different, 
the sun comes up, the trees stand tall 
against the sky that may be blue 
or grey or white, it is still too soon 
to know, I carry my cup through 
a space dense with the dissipation 
of you, like fog rising from the river 
that rose so fast, the time between 
in-breath and exhale, a pause that 
held every moment that was not 
to be, I could get lost in that pause, 
and may yet, the day is still young.