Halfway North

I stand a moment in the space you left,

while summer air curls through the windows wide –

I, reconciling, make the empty bed,

the sun lies on the laundered sheets and sighs;

Your desk, your chest, your closet – clean and spare,

these books have all been read, the records played –

the things you’ve left behind – they’re chaff, or dear,

I walk between these things, my temples grayed.

The wind comes in, the sunlight dims and goes –

as I descend these fourteen wooden stairs;

out to the west, you dreamed, you woke, you rose,

now plant your feet and tend to your affairs.

And as for me, I’m chaff, I’m dear, unseen –

I clamber up to this lone shelf and dream.