After great pain

Because I have no words today, I will borrow some from Emily Dickinson:

 

After great pain, a formal feeling comes–

The Nerves sit ceremonious, like Tombs–

The stiff Heart questions was it He, that bore,

And Yesterday, or Centuries before?

 

The Feet, unceremonious, go round—

A Wooden way

Of Ground, or Air, or Ought—

Regardless grown,

A Quartz contentment, like a stone—

 

This is the Hour of Lead—

Remembered, if outlived,

As Freezing persons, recollect the Snow—

First—Chill, then Stupor—then the letting go—