Waking without you has become almost natural: br absence of leaves after a storm br branches naked br shivering at a touch of wind. br Knowing new leaves will grow br is almost sufficient balm; br yet something in this sun-streak't room br misses your sweet disorder: br jumbl'd piles of lingerie; br open vials of cosmetics br & contact lens solution... br br There is no solution to this paradox. br Your absence is final as death. br Focusing on morning tasks, br on details br with which I define my you-less existence, br I rise br & shivering like wind-nuded winter trees br endure till Spring.