Lessons in loss

My grief is a wordless thing
after the first flood, a solitary summer 
that dried the river beds - and almost filled

the field of vision, colourless
opaque as cataracts drawn like blinds
over windowless eyes - but still I saw

the home become a distant speck
flying weightless, unearthly for a while
a cloud-hopper seeding rain - and there I saw

the path we trod now formless, tracked
it back though all September's signs 
swallows had slipped South - and there I knew

that grief is an ageless thing
it heeds no earthly cares and leaves me 
breathless - yet still I know

how senseless this sense of absence
since spirit is a boundless thing

In memory of Martin and wordsmithed from a list of ‘less’ suffixed words for my Poetics Prompt: Less is More, More or Less