once you could feel her anger,
hear her laughter
hot in your own belly
and echoing from the cement walls
of buildings she could have
walked past days ago


you have lost the sensitivity
to the pulse of her life
what book does she return to the library
drop box
what shorts does she wear as she walks there
and what band will she see
which songs does she play over and over
coupling new summer colors
to be recalled with sound
in your absence


you will lose her scent
her hair will grow out,
and be trimmed
grow out, and be trimmed
and you will not know her passion
what city calls to her
after she makes a home
in the city she has left for


soon the anxiety of
casually bumping into her
among mutual friends will vanish
as perfect emptiness follows
the threat of her presence


you will wake from dreaming of embracing her
and feel no longing


you will dress,
leave the house without coffee,
and during your morning commute
remember holding her in your dream
and think,
someone can hold her much better now
someone can hold her knowing
what thrives within her,
what sets her into bliss


instead of a man calling for the ghost
of who she may have been
water color impressions washed out
in the trick of memory

M S C

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