I guess, I haven’t handled
complex operations, like
the removal of you,
before:

maybe that’s why I didn’t get it
right,
and now,
there are still suture stains,
scalpel tips,
leaf litter,
floating amongst my workings,
etched with your syllables.

I suppose I’d thought of
what I’d say,
if you said “come back, please?”:

if I could, no.

most likely an uncertain shrug,
before resumption,
again, following each of your tender footprints.

but, no. definitively, no.

sure enough as the sun eventually slips,
I’ll find another shadow to drag across my aching heart,
no matter how your remnants last,
stinging, to remind me,
of what I had once wanted.

another quiet song I shall sing,
this one, upon newer ears.

hopefully, not another deaf set.