miss his steps that fell like redwoods.
down to the garden gate.
miss the thought of chasing him through it.
miss the grass left on its knees anew
every day.
and does the grass miss the weight
of his brown boots?
miss watching him go and the
suitcase snap, snapdragon
temper.
miss the whirl of a coat and moan of the abandoned hook.
and his heels
ten times over more overused.
miss folding his clothes and sighing
with every spin of my hands.
miss the begrudging thank you's.
a little.
miss finding clothespins on the floor.
miss hollering at every slamming door.
miss rocking chairs
and firefly evenings, full of my
soot stained knees and his rough thumbs,
his fingerprints.
miss the corner of his jaw
and the side of his neck, his palms
coming away dusted with black
and fingertips sifting
settling between strands of my hair.
miss the tip of his nose, and the fireflies do
too.
miss having one chair
and two bodies.
miss every sunny day spent screaming
and every thunderstorm spent silent.
but the sun especially, because
his voice filled every crack in the walls.
but the storms especially, because
the pattern of his breathing was blankets.
miss knowing how to slow dance
in a square.
miss not knowing how to at all
and his toes colliding with mine.
miss hearing three words,
feeling two hands,
tasting one kiss.
miss seeing nothing
and sleeping with no candles.
miss the murmuring chest and
trigger-happy hands
empty until they find mine in the secrets of the sheets.
miss the invisible wars screaming by
in trains full of ghosts
under the bed.
miss the end
that came at sunrise
and came like forest fire
through a house made of tinder
through bones made of branches.
i'll miss him until he's back, when
he realizes he forgot one thing
in his case of clothes and candles.
a pair of soot stained knees
and firefly kisses.
someone left behind and waiting
at a faltering kitchen sink
and a warm and empty window.
///
