You never wrote back, but I read every line—

In letters I dreamed up and signed in your sign.

They came in the wind or the drip of the sink,

In shadows that pause just a moment to think.

I fed on illusions, I watered my pain,

I swore that your absence would soon explain.

But days turn to years, and still I believe,

That ghosts only vanish when we stop to grieve.


---nyn