CORNERS

Do you only feel the closeness of me-
to me-
when I’m there to touch,
be touched?
When I leave-
turn a corner-
do I vanish, disappear
from you
altogether?

Do your thoughts wander off
to things we’ve done-
things we’ll do?
Are there ruts in your memory-
a trail of where I’ve trod-
that you return to time & again
to walk in,
to remember-
me
when I’m miles afar & away?

Do you think of:
my feel,
my sound,
my smell,
my taste?

Does a slideshow play when you close your eyes?
Recounting scenes of two characters
sharing
a common set?
Or does the screen go blank & fade to black?
Does the seat fold up behind you?
As you leave the theatre half forgetting:
most of what you saw,
half of what you felt,
the lines we spoke so well?

Do you think of me like I think of you
once my scent
on your collar
has faded?
Can I hope? Can I dream?
That when our fingertips part that
I haunt your waking moments
as the thought of you haunts mine?

Do I drift from you like clouds in the sky
over the mountains & out of your sight?
- cease to exist -
Do you write my name high enough in the sand
to avoid the lapping
waves
of the tide
that want so strongly to wash
me
away?

When I’m gone-
do you notice something missing?
Does it cause a little sting
in tender places?
Or am I merely a wispy dream
you forget upon waking-
a vague shadow of a thing
you wish you could recall?

Do I get to linger near you
once swallowed up by the hungry night
of other lives lived separately?
Or is the ghost of me forced
out of the house
until the next time I
draw near
and peek around
the corner?