How white the tomb

When your room was emptied
of the former days,
Those days of lost photographs
and other shrouded rooms,
when your heart was emptied
of its joy and sliced from you like a limb,
How many nights did you bleed on your bed?
Feeling the phantom nerves?
How dark were the streets when you awoke
that winter morning?
How vacant the white crib?
How empty the tomb that day?