I want to write
something beautiful,
something to honor 
his memory. But
everything I muster
through the tears is worthless.

I can’t even begin 
to describe every ‘good night’
I heard as I left his room,
or the funny 
little comments he made
just before bed 
and right as I woke up 
(three hours after he had),
the meatball recipe 
that no one other than he
can recreate as
deliciously as he did,
or how it’s going to feel
tomorrow walking
into that funeral home
we left only
eight months ago.