The space you’ve left behind
Has shrunk into tight corners;
Into the deeper shadows of a darkened room.
The absence of you is an occasion, now,
And not the state of every space I occupy.
But there are parts of you, like partial ghosts,
That slips into my thoughts, my day;
Disembodied attributes that hover
Like the persistent grin of Alice’s Cheshire Cat.
I know your chuckle perches on my armoire,
Just behind the green ceramic bowl, waiting
For the right instance or thought—like when
I’m startled by my reflection, or when
I’ve suddenly remembered something I’d forgotten
And start, then stop, and start again,
All in a mad sort of twirl.
You’re ghost-chuckle descends, then
Like the sun breaking through clouds
I’ve stopped noticing. It is gone just as quickly,
Dissipating into air, into atoms that are not
Separate from any part of me, or you; or
The space you’ve left behind.