Inexact, diffuse and deep

Because all my losses weren’t exact

I didn’t think to mourn, or weep
they couldn’t be summed in one neat fact

Days keep them private, and time is backed

thrust into work but can only creep
because all my losses weren’t exact

Friends handle my house with muted tact

and tiptoe around where memories sleep
they couldn’t be summed in one neat fact

The smoke from sorrow isn’t easily tracked

but it’s wrong that diffuse can’t be deep
because all my losses weren’t exact

Nothing at all has shattered on impact;

for they don’t crash, just that they seep
they couldn’t be summed in one neat fact

There’s little left with which to transact

life with its sale of laughter and grief
Because all my losses weren’t exact
they couldn’t be summed in one neat fact.