Examining the tee from the game that you loved
I imagine your swing and thoughtfully rub
my thumb over imperfections made
of time, spent and gone;
now emptiness so. . . wrong.
I hold it for the ties to you.
Your nearness seeping in faint wisps
into my bones
but they are ghostly tethers.
Sitting in the home
you built. Amid the ruins of years
gladly spent in labor. Fears
gently assuaged and now forgotten
even as you fade.
As the time with you fades.
Your nearness pales,
After all, it is just a tee.
Now my panic fills the moment
as this tether fails
too.