Empty,

your armchair sits in
the corner of the room

and I wonder how the
enormity of you ever fitted there.

In days of shadow, the frayed
fabric forms your silhouette;

the imprint of a
man I cannot be.

My memories of you
are like every season’s rain,

a permanent lens of grief.

How could I ever fill
the empty space you left?

The empty spaces
that are everywhere.