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I sat in your chair;
doesn't seem right that you weren't sitting there.
I watched a lizard crawl up a hot stone wall,
a stopstart slithering crawl,
and all I thought was,
"Why does his heart beat --
why does he crawl and breathe and eat
when you can't watch his lizardly feat?"

Read a poem you wrote --
it was beautiful.
It rhymed, but I didn't mind
(sometimes a person just needs to rhyme),
and I thought,
"That man loved with a passion I
don't ever remember having
so why is he gone
and I carry on?"

I can't look your memory in the face directly
yet,
I keep poking at the edges with my fingers
and pulling at little strings
to see what unravels,
but your smile is faded,
your laugh is muted,
and the shape of you is only approximate
in the gaps in my heart.

Someday I will refine the edges
so I can hold you just so,
but for now all I can think is,
I was not ready for you to go.