What if your sheets still smelled like me?
Fragrance is fragments of me rubbed off onto pillows.
Did you know I’ve been calling out to you?
You stand like a pillar at the center.
Such weight cracks bells and
thunder rumbles streets
until car horns wail…
and I awake to remember it’s you—
You are some inconstant shape,
cut out, gone.
And I hear the gallop of train whistles
threatening to close up, heal over
the space you once occupied.
