You’re in the wind.
Afterglow of tail lights in a pull off,
vanish with a sudden, side street left.
I am still the spot I stood in then.
You’re elsewhere, husband-held
All of your hues linger on the walls,
the muddle of sheets.
Straight to voicemail, your hushed loop.
I start thinking in terms of years.
The way your nude hand sheathed
the wedding band one.
The way I took to the bottle
Let’s make a run for it.
Your non-song, falsetto into crushed pillow.
My unconscious body for days on end.
The literal passage of time.
I’ve discovered a fine thing-
No, I haven’t really.
Just that the wind passes
and you can stand still long enough
to hear a murmur of breeze.
Maybe a pulse.
Nothing at all.