death of a husband

There is nothing genuine
paradigm
about the conscience of you
there is nothing photo primed
re aligned
about the reflection
of 
you
there is no captive phrase
vocabulary glaze
about the quality
of your
effect
there is nothing polarized
re described
about the 
scars that you left
there is nothing gravitational
pull over wool
about the shadow
and the effect
the lines were black and white
blood cut like wine
about your redefined
sublet
on feelings that
you never had
aren't you glad
its the end
a child in the ground
a perfect memory
where you
no longer have to give
a fast gait in your walk
a slow moon on your dock
a phony smile to give the crowd
a conscience bearer
who has to stare
straight ahead
to avoid a tear
there's nothing there
nothing to share
no heart, no memory
just a child
in the ground
because of the death
of you and me.