The sidewalk misses your steps,
the window your sight
and the flower your smell
Before you turn,
You can talk to the pillow,
to the floor patterns,
to me
We will listen
I saw your ghost
and was reminded
of our mark
getting smaller
in the timeline
the finger lifts,
the button rises,
the birds chirp,
the sun rises,
the cars are moving,
but I feel left out
of the quotidian,
like I have been
frozen in a glacier mid-stride
while still in my best fake smile
at the office
