T h e r e  are images
of you blurred just on
the  very edges of  my
sight line.  My peripheral
is constantly catching you
fixing your glasses or watching
tv with one
arm resting on the top of your
head and the other reaching
out to  find me or messing
with  the  soul  of  your
loafers that couldn't
h o l d
themselves
together   after
eight years of traveling
this town with you.