I miss sitting close
enough to feel each other’s body heat.
Tracing his lifeline,
feeling the ridges on his index finger,
aligning mine with his.
Now I live without him,
My heart, mellowed by age.
But I miss the intimacy
of holding his hand.
Our loss echoes in the silence.
Stark lights flash on flesh
that bleeds out under the glare.
Is it just me out here?
I think I hear laughter but maybe,
it is just my echo bouncing
off the noiseless gloom,
causing my stumble out of the light.
Knees planted firmly on heartwood,
I look down into the hollow.
True self, solid form,
taunting me – its pallid echo.