Do you remember when your voice held my name
not at ransom but aloft,
and it lulled me to sleep to hear those syllables
cocooned in comfort.

You blew back into your hometown this week
trying to hang the language of your new life in the doorways
I've repainted
on the furniture I've shifted
and in the corners of my mind
now reserved for little plants bravely growing in watery sunlight,

they're replacing your absence,
and the taste of your name on my tongue.