an empty morning

your pillow
how you left it
curled under
on the edge

i remind myself
to think of you
in the new silence

the cat watching
with the small
movements
of a ghost

together
we move through
the tall pines

he tells me
of the bad days
his words reaching
through the light
of an early autumn

there is a need here
in the pale shadows

the new morning
rots like an open fruit

morning begins
to soften
outside

i wait for you
cold hands
light gathering
with the dust
of the growing hours

there is nothing in me
that is not already soft
and brittle

feel the leaves slip
on the pavement
touching new words with
a covered breath

midnight buries
a half moon

below her
the sidewalk seems
to shimmer in
the dim light

voices meet
hand to
awkward hand

she hesitates
lingering to watch
the snow fall

the smell of smoke drifts
from the burning mountains

your breath moving
the strands of my hair

new light touches
the corner
of the bedside table
and tells me
what i don't remember

july again
i've forgotten
the way a warm hand
feels against
the back of my neck

summer
speaks with
a waning breath

the last hour
goes by
slowly

he writes
of the sun shifting
through the narrow grass
the curve of her body
moving with the sound
of a sigh

a cold rain gathers
bringing night
to the waking room

the pale shadows
on the table
hold the movement
of his empty hand