low on the shore — crab cam
— rocks distinct in the early bright
a drape of sea lettuce — perfectly greened to please a child
and water gif-looped
like breathing // cold, clear and
flowing like our knowledge;
the sky and the land
some Edenic afterthought.
not your touch but your absence
not your kiss but after
my cheek cooling
like the sun eclipsed re-emerging
the land gradually dawning
birds waking again.
not your breath but your perfume
just a trace — familiar, austere —
declines in the room
like a cloud moving away
the glare returning
colours bleached and bare.
not your words but the place
on the page erased
where a shadow remains
like a building emptied
or a statue burning
a space yet to be filled.
shirts, the torment of our sheets
your keys from the bowl
all these things, these you-things
like a door closing or a film
framed by a door of an empty house
the sound running down as we pull away.
the likenesses pile up
times when I mistake one thing for another
shadows for anime, windswept for blown back
the press of the tide for knowledge (of some sort)
hands waving hello for hands waving goodbye
— not your touch but your absence.