From the Funeral, I’d, Returned to the Apartment

I’d, Crawled onto the Floors, Cried Aloud

Searched for My Wife’s Hair Everywhere

The Two Months, from the Drainage Pipes, the Vacuum’s

Underneath the Fridge, Inside the Closets

And the Few on Her Clothes

Then, a Few Japanese Women Came to Visit

Then I’d, Stopped, Because I could, No Longer Tell Which Were, Hers Anymore

A year Past, as I was, Changing the Pot for Michiko’s Avocados, I’d Found

A Long, Dark Strand of Hair, Entangled, into the Potting Soil

And that, is how you’d, come to the realization, that your deceased wife’s presence, is still, all over this house you two had, shared, even if she’s gone, everything about her, still stays right there!