the stale air wakes her,
thick with memory,
and she recalls his footprints
like a silent language
she can no longer speak.

the morning puts its stamp on the quiet,
when empty shadows lay heavy like death
and whispers of loss echo through each room.

she once swept away the waves of sorrow,
but dust crept back like the dark
and made a home in the corner of her mind.

like love, the day is a trespasser -
it's the unwanted fingerprints on mirrors,
the violation of solitude,
the broken glass of the aftermath,
the resurgence of fear.

she checks the locks on each door,
walks along the edge of the night
and heads back to bed
with the promise of elusive dreams.

This is an awesome verse! I see the picture at the end loud and clear, and I like the line, "and she recalls his footprints like a silent language she can no longer speak" - very evocative.

Very strange times we live in. I just had a dream about something similar.