I have begun to notice the vast, blank
Stretches of wall in my house. They
Have a certain beauty to them, but
In the absence of anything to avert
My attention, I can see only your
Faces, as if painted in memories, on
Those white canvases of nothingness
And the pain of your sudden appearance
Followed tightly by the slow fade of your
Images, is unbearable, but still my eyes
Seek out the blanks on the walls, the
Voids through which you can come
Just that much closer, to my being.