We never said goodbye; because of this,
I find myself watching doorways, stairwells,
for a flash of gold hair. I hear the bells
of tin bracelets I gave you for a kiss
each time the wind startles the neighbor's chimes,
expecting any moment you'll appear,
smile, settling a stray hair behind your ear,
and take my outstretched hand, just like old times.
Even the empty spaces in the crowd
between shoulder and hip, bent knee and shin,
impossibly trace your outline--a ghost
formed by your very absence. If allowed,
I'd dive in between strangers, scattering most
what I long to embrace and gather in--
1 comment:
Beautiful!
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