I’m losing him to the night. These last
Few days looked up, found they were months.
Each time the door was shut behind,
Shook the house like a final word,
A little of me leaves each time he leaves.
Some measure of me stays, brews the pot,
Sits tight for an approaching wind
Of my own imaginings.
I know it’s just me. I know it’s just me.
How could it be, each and every time,
That he is truly gone.
It’s only me. I know, it’s only me
Alone with my long-stewed tea.
It cannot be, I’m losing him to the night.