The Missing One--A Love Story
The memory
arrives
colder now.
Spring in
Phoenix,
a palace
of tan grass
beneath
our feet,
all of you
that remains.
The water
and the wind
still dancing
in my mind,
running
furiously
in my speech,
your quietness
appealing
to every trace
of what I was.
All of this
makes sense,
the way
anything
exists at all
makes sense.
Forgetting you
by degrees,
an impossible
arithmetic.
Keeps
me up nights,
wound up and
scorned
by your presence.
I search
for you,
your eyes
touched
by fire,
by impatience,
your voice,
trumpet calling
me home,
and I remained.
I search
for you,
but I
am
the missing one.
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