It’s hardly surprising
That dust gathers
When movement
Is gone
That air
Becomes stale
When not moved
By word or action

You used to
Breathe the air
I’d just exhaled
Bite it from the sky
And gulp it down

Your finger-tips
Moved over
Every surface
With gentle
Caress

All the things
We gathered
& polished
& cherished
Have returned
To inanimate
Anonymity

Your key
On the shelf
No longer
Opens our world
Or commences
A journey
Cold and removed
From the key-ring
Slipped
Easily
To independence
Like your wedding band

I know the suntan
Of our sunshine
Still leaves
Traces on your
Absent hand
And the years
Of living
& leaving
& returning
Have smoothed
Your key
Have smoothed
me