Empty Space

I have a cupboard full of keys that open doors to our past.

There is a crack in the lining of the universe where you fell through.

What is the colour of heartache in this busy life you left behind-

There’s a rainbow of alien colours but I’m lost in pink.

There was no echo of a gunshot yet the space is empty now.

Sometimes flowers grow where the grass is gone.

In the dirt and the stones are sandy weeds of salty white water.

A painting on canvas of an afterlife I can’t be a part of.

Is there any sense after death in the words of the living?