Nights Alone

"This morning 
I am at the kitchen table 
crying again, like a bent 
blade of grass drenched 
in dew, drenched 
in you.

By this afternoon, 
I will be dry. I will seem fine 
to the bluebird, 
to the butterfly passing by, but I 
know better.

I know it doesn't matter 
how warm & bright 
the daylight feels, 
when nights alone 
are cold."