The Widower’s Labor

He doesn’t forget that he is old
And she a shade. It’s been fifteen years

Of back and forth, and one time leaving,
Or trying to leave, himself behind,

Not that he thought he’d join her that way.
Shades are only shades to those who aren’t.

But he got back in the boat and rowed,
His own blackout angel underneath,

And he’s still there, old, older, crawling
The waves, but he thinks of her, his shade.