I woke early to hear the remnants of rain
after an all-night storm. Gray morning, diluted
light coming through the shades. A bird from
the willow chirped, each note
another beatitude. I took my time getting
up, an unfinished dream still warm
in my head: it was two autumns ago
and you were there with a half-smirk,
scarved neck, framed in sunlight.
All the leaves scuttled to your feet
and far off somewhere, a woman’s voice
wisped like a westward wind against my ear.
But this morning I find no love where
once it glared like a thief who overturned
all I own and still wanted more.
My bed was empty and it was spring,
another season without you, had you
been here at all.
