Waking without you has become almost natural:
absence of leaves after a storm
branches naked
shivering at a touch of wind.
Knowing new leaves will grow
is almost sufficient balm;
yet something in this sun-streak't room
misses your sweet disorder:
jumbl'd piles of lingerie;
open vials of cosmetics
& contact lens solution...

There is no solution to this paradox.
Your absence is final as death.
Focusing on morning tasks,
on details
with which I define my you-less existence,
I rise
& shivering like wind-nuded winter trees
endure till Spring.

(Copyright Hugh Cobb Revised 11/08/05)

Hugh Cobb

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/waking-without-you/