Mourning

I see her often out of the corner of my eye, a flicker, a shadow. She is in the creak of the house settling. She is the emptiness when I am reading on the couch late at night under a blanket. She is the emptiness on my pillow, the emptiness in the corners where her things once were. She is in the photograph hanging on the wall, she is in my heart, but she is not here.