Absence

Your absence
         holds the shape
                  of your face.

I repeat your name
                  in the night.

This chair
         where you sat;
                  those days

in the park -
         how far we wandered
                  in those days;

our manners delicate,
                  the air gentle.

A discontented man
                  would stare at you;

a burdened woman
         look away
                  and feel

that she was you,
         back when ...
                  and one day, you’d be her.

© James Charlton