I still remember
your footsteps beside me,
whispering on the asphalt,
in the rain,
in the hollow of dark nights,
beneath the weary glow
of city lamp poles,
upon the trembling wet pavement.

Now you have left
the rain,
the light,
and me.

Yet still I walk
through the same aching air,
the same silver rain,
the same empty streets.

Each drop that falls
is a soft echo
of your vanished footfall,
each puddle
a mirror to a memory
I cannot outrun.

O rain,
why can you wash the world clean,
but never wash
her footsteps
away from my life?