almost gone

You’re gone now - almost gone from me.

I used to miss your touch, I used to

stand still in the places that were ours

and feel your absence. Now
I walk past almost thoughtlessly,
my mind drifts light like flotsam
on the harbor, floats right by.
I used to dream I’d pass you somewhere

and exchange the looks that said

we’re just acquaintances in public but

I count the freckles on your neck,

I know why that song is your favorite

and why you skip coffee. Now

these things are floating faintly somewhere

far back in my mind. Yes, they are sweet,

and still, some days

I savor them,

like clouded photographs

of ancient ancestors I never knew

whose faces look the slightest bit like Mom or Dad

or brother, but who are no more to me than

lovely old stories. Recently,

I looked into another young man’s eyes, thought I

might like to kiss him, knew

the memory of your warm arms can’t quite

distract me from his touch. Not anymore. Not now. 

And I don’t know if I am glad - or sad -
that you are almost gone. 

photo credit Millie Firmin