what is left behind

Think of departure as a kind of death:
a stone draws out of water, and if
the empty space stayed, as in
a photograph we see it still
captured by the fast lens that
freezes drops of water
as we could never see them
beautiful, arching, glorious.

But the hole that was a rock
remains,
wonder/miracle/phenomenon
unnatural.

I look at the abandoned toy,
the desultory pencil,
the place you sat
but I can regard only
the play of light on dust motes
the bass thrumming of passing traffic
the softness of upholstery
as we could never see them
beautiful, arching, glorious.

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About riverwriter

Poet, playwright, duplicate bridge player, website designer, cottager, husband, father, grandfather, former athlete, carpenter, computer helper for my friends, theatre designer, backstage polymath, retired teacher of highschool English, drama, art, a baritone singer in a barbershop quartet, who knows what else? wordcurrents is on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/wordcurrents/ Doug also has a Facebook page, "Incognitio", related to his novels.
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