When You Are Not Here


When you are not here, the blanket
is your skin, furred from touch,
fragrant with sweat. The curtains

tremble and shut like your eyes
from a breeze of sleep. Distant
thunder form words of denial

banging on the lid of my mind.
The evening sky stuttering
on a threshold of night

is an unthinkable moment of parting.
Behind the cloud, a promise of peace
glows like a moon shyly hiding.

from Tilting Our Plates To Catch The Light

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