A sentimental shaft of light
touched my face through
a cracked window pane.

A reflection of remembered
warmth, a memory of the
fire in your eyes.

My gaze turns towards
the window, searching
dancing motes of dust,
for a ghost of you.

For just an outline,
a shimmering silhouette,
to cling too.

But even as I search
I know, you're no mere ghost.

The light that touched
my face was you.