She walks my dream streets,
Honey-haired, onyx-eyed,
Ever-twenty-three,
A past unavoided,
A future unlived.
Present but unknown,
She resides in ether,
Lost in faded time until,
Appearing,
She walks across my emotions
Clothed in knife-edged clarity,
In colors too sharp for my heart.
The decades contract,
Focusing memory.
And she stands before me,
A snapshot prior to
The choices of youth.
Night blooms and,
Sundered by her smile,
Devastated by the dreamspace
That separates Reality from Desire,
I weep.
Unraveling Time
Desert Wind
Ploughman's Son
Ploughman King
The Year the Cloud Fell
The Spirit of Thunder
Shadow of the Storm
The Cry of the Wind
Beneath a Wounded Sky
Cryptogenesis: A Memoir
Kurt R.A. Giambastiani 
There should be a button other than “like” because it’s hard to like something that speaks so strongly of a terrible loss. My first husband was killed in a car accident at 19, and this poem really resonates with me.
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Damn. That’s harsh, and I feel for you. I’ve had loss, but that’s tragic and must be hard to keep in the background. In my opinion, we never “get over” losses like that; we just learn to live with them. Hugs, kiddo. Try one of the happier poems (there are a couple). –k
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