And afterwards

And afterwards

I imagined that I’d feel you always, hovering ghostly by my shoulder – mistake

your face in every crowd, and your voice round every corner. Thought you’d haunt my dreams and live there, in the blue of each awakening call to me

and I would answer; swim through sweat-soaked sheets to meet you –

and wake, your name still warm upon my lips.

Instead

I surface from a dreamless black

to the pallid light morning. Stand for hours

in your bedroom, with your books and in your chair feeling nothing – nothing

but the empty air.