Clearing out the room

That had been a shrine

To the beloved.

Now it all seems junk.

Now we must empty

That space, perhaps

Even paint the walls

A new, bright color.

Be brave. Admit it:

All this dusty stuff

Needs to be tossed

In a box and hauled

To a dump.

It’s morbid.

It shows a lack of faith.

The beloved was never

These inert objects.

The beloved was alive.

As she is now inside you,

As he is now in the Book.