Each Day Without Her

Each day is, above all else, a day without her.
I wear her bathrobe (without the tissues in the pockets),
With her paring knife I cut peaches for my cereal,
I read Newsweek by the light of her floor lamp.

I wear her bathrobe without the tissues in the pockets,
I toss my recycling into her red bin.
I read Newsweek by the light of her floor lamp.
My face becomes her face in her mirror.

I toss my recycling into her red bin,
A squirrel comes to eat at her bird feeder.
My face becomes her face in her mirror.
If she could just join me for tea at her table...

With her paring knife I cut peaches for my cereal,
A squirrel comes to eat from her bird feeder.
If she could just join me for tea at her table...
Each day is, above all else, a day without her.