Does it bother you, how much he loved her?

Today, he tweets pictures of her headstone,
where nestled grass has grown
over three years, and he writes
about wanting death
to come untrue;
how he’d join her some days,
if he could, how
he would like to melt
into the earth. 

She was his love
and love
isn’t something we bury
with dirt or time.

She was his love
and now, there will always be
loss mixed with happiness.

“Does it bother you,
how much he loved her?”

You don’t ask this,
but wonder it. 

And all I can tell you is that
he is a history of faithfulness;

the only future I don’t fear.