In Absentia
I want what things might
bind you to memory, like
the joints could hold, like
these clear afternoons
leaves glow against the heavens
golden, red, few green
the strengthening wind
reminiscent of our walk
around Galena
you were still living
close enough to see the same
leaves changed and falling
when the four of us
met, knowing you near without
asking you along
(August, 2005)