A Second (In) Time

How can someone

miss a person 

the second

that they’re 

gone? 

‍

I know I shouldn't. But

‍

I do anyway, 

palms pressed up against 

a fogged up 

window pane. 

The setting sun 

flickers

like a flame 

and slips below the cusp 

of the horizon. Even 

as my fingertips 

brush the doorknob, 

your silhouette is 

melting 

into the hazy light.

‍

Just a moment ago 

you were with me.

But the street is 

empty now. 

There is 

no one, except 

a lone airplane and eventually 

only the extended sigh 

she left behind. I stand 

with hunched shoulders

underneath the awning 

       of an open sky

       that overflows

           with stars

             spilling 

             from a 

              leaky 

             faucet    

                  .

                  .

                  .

                So 

              when 

           teardrops 

      caress the earth, 

I open my arms to embrace 

the darkness, the place where you 

once stood, in hopes 

that wherever you 

wander, among clouds 

or constellations, 

maybe someday 

we can 

meet 

‍

once again

‍