From the road, I see your silhouette on the stairs
your slim form outlined in the descent of day
A year gone, this sort of evening would have had you waiting
for me.
For a walk, for the "Let me put on some shorts."
The old brown shorts with the bleached edges
or the slim black ones.
The "Let me grab the keys."
For the, "Can you put my phone in your pocket?"
For your hand in mine
as we crossed our picnic spot to the sidewalk,
"I should collect some of these juniper berries to make gin."
For the way our strides coordinated, syncopation, across the road
to the path well-travelled.
So many diminutive moments
I didn't expect to miss.
But of course,
it's the small deaths I grieve the most.
I look for you everywhere.
Some days there are premonitions of a glimpse
The soft forlorn emptiness that pervades me
and the cheshire glitter of you, or who I think is you,
bringing the pain into focus.
We're half a mile away, at most.
I can't even half entertain the thought of crossing our divide,
but
I miss you.
Are you looking for me, too?