passage in poetry

in mourning, time loses meaning
or at least time’s passage does
holidays become mere changes in
the front window’s decorations
seasons become mere changes in
the patterns of the weather
reason itself becomes merely a weak
rationalization for the unacceptable
mourning lacks a future or a past
mourning is an alternately sorrowful
and fucking tedious continuous now
a frozen moment that you carry inside
until the day when
someone else is
morning you