Seven Hundred Thirty (and One)

Two years ago tonight I was writing.
And this is what I said
The night my best friend died.
And here is what I learned
In all the jumbled weeks and nights of afterwards:
The strength of each day is measured out
And it will be enough,
But only for one day, then
You must ask again.

And some day, surprised, you'll say
'I am happy again,'
Maybe even after just
Two eternal
And momentary years.