Apart

A shoeless space on the carpet wasteland 
foregrounds a crater of your unbelievable absence. 
The smallest armchair drips with this non-you. 
The hallway, where it gathers in clumps, 
puffs out spores like an extra-terrestrial blob. 
Silence patterns the air with lightning strikes of non-you. 
The dead hour when it creeps around, 
frost builds a valediction to the warmth. 
An emptiness in the kitchen rears up monstrous.  
From its unseen flora something pounces in ambush 
then moves beside me in waves and flurries    
clinging tight to every twist I take in the throes of insomnia.  
Eyes on bare walls and there you are not there. 
You swam once between the clouds a phantom 
(Chagal hoisted you longways up there). 
Lonely together we are as voiceless strangers. 
Yet, intimately apart as the orbiting moons of our distant planet.  
Raging inside our casual sighs that outside 
beyond the deathly oppression of concrete, 
there are endless fields and dark, untrodden places full
of non-you.