there’s a gap on my bookshelf
where The Deathly Hallows used to sit.
i lent you the seventh text
when you left for rehab
and haven’t seen it since.
you’ve been holding on to it for me.

the absence reminds me fondly
of the way you used to etch the wand,
stone, and cloak into my skin
with your fingertips,
searching for the pulse
thundering in my wrist.

it’s been nearly a year since I held you
on the drive up to Gainesville.
you’ve been clean now
for over five months.
like coal, you weathered the furnace
and emerged priceless as diamond.