After Therapy

I am learning about missing you;

it is so intimately specific.

Every detail is a gentle point of grief.

From your gate to your door

are a hundred recollected movements

crying out to move again.

From your door, up the stairs,

to the window, then my chair,

are a hundred more, just as

vital as the ones before.

The touch of my bare feet upon

your rug, before I sit and

curl them under me, the multi-coloured

cushion resting on my knee.

Your laughter danced in the air between us;

it was so intimately joyful.

I wish that I could recall its sound.

We created a whole world as we lived

our time together; and I so miss its concrete nature.

Every detail is a gentle point of grief.