almost always
in the aftermath of found love
blown and lost to the winds
everything suffocates:
even the sunlight of noon pales
the surface of things laced in grey
ashes gather in my pockets
films and coats my eyes
like a monocle
to reveal the ghosts
rising from memory.

but not now, not
with my memories of you

instead the light is a sharp blade
revealing surface and edges
your feminine form
touched and infused
with a certain clarity
vibrant even in your absence

the wind is not silent nor howls
between its folds a certain fragrance
like from a flower with petals unfolding
rises to claim and roam
every inch and pore
naked and empty, waiting

then it comes to me:
no ghost rise even in your absence
because you are out there, somewhere
where wind, light, and sound touch you
the same wind, light, and sound
who claims earth, sea, and sky

as they touch me.