Grief is sea salt and sunsets and his old guitar.
It’s kite flying in the summer wind, laughter over cups of coffee, and the whisper of trees.
It’s waking in the early morning to stand and meet the sunrise and swearing he’s standing right next to you.
Grief is closed coffee shops, old memories, and his green flannel shirt.
How often she thinks of you, Old Man.
How often she hears your voice
How often the raindrops on marigolds fall like tears





















