he's more real than when he was there
those wisps of his scent in the chair
the cold bed
the things that didn't need to be said
in the unspoken mirror of feelings
half the peelings
half the portion and all the bed
in sickness and in health you said
his chair
now moved for the sake of change
and the ornaments rearranged
he's more real
when you shut the door and call
'I'm home' at that blank wall
within you
and without you as you face the world
the sense of strength and the aching ball
of grief
is more real now he has gone
as you escape to his side
of the bed
The Blue Book
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