I flip and flip and flip trying
To find a familiar face in the photo album
Those are nothing to do with her, he says
And each touch disturbs
The fallen dust of memory
The pixelated stillness of a last touch,
Her breath lies in this room, to be
Wafted away at the next breath of wind
Turned by strangers' memories.
We skirt around the hole rearranging
Stripping the house of pieces of air to take home - each of us has her but none
In Totality