Mostly I remember,
the tangible absence of you.
The empty air is brighter,
Cold as outer space.
The void beside me in bed,
rows of bus seats filled by no one.
Or someone else.

I once loved your fingers,
and they whispered back
the words that didn’t need saying.

We were pebbles in a world too large, frozen by out own breath
and even as mountains grew between us, as storms blinded me,
and the window of my car,
the ice held us, bugs trapped in amber.

By summer our love filled the air,
only humidity remained
gems on the grass at dawn
erased by the sun.