it’s just before midnight,
as the winter wind blows,
and the moon lies
waxy pale,
by the spill of the lamplight
this cracked heart knows
that it’s that time
and it whispers your name


and as morning arrives
with a new risen sun
the deed, no longer done
and the hurt, not gone
but this day begins,
fresh, without you
and determined,
to set life anew

~j