the chair you always said you liked
sits, cold and unwarmed
in the darkening april night
as empty as when
it first came into my life
now that you have left it
for the very last time.
it’s funny how eloquent a silence can be
or how you fill my room still
even as you no longer step inside
and even as i no longer remember
whether your tears made a sound
or why my heart had to hide
each time you sobbed a heartfelt plea
to have me hold you in the dying light.
my arms could not move, you see
as full of futile feeling as
there is now emptiness in the night,
even as the moon spoke words of moonlight at
a world that had long ceased to open its eyes.
and every aching word you sought
to thaw away from me, as the winter slowly
melted its ice
would not flow so smoothly down
those jagged crags of rock that formed
the mask i wore outside.
somewhere, in the distant sky
a single whispered "sorry" dies
alight on the cowardly wings
of sorrow and regret, and i
took the bridge between the worlds
of "you" and "you and i"
and walked away long before
that whispered word could reach
your lonely, broken, weather-beaten door.
April 3, 2008