I sit beside you
in the yawning hush of
late afternoon.
Your face
the color of a
November sky,
each breath
the faint rustling
of falling leaves.
Your hand
grows weak
from holding on.
I sit beside you
in the space
between day and night,
yearning for the days
when your hair was the color
of the summer sun,
when laughter spilled
from your lips
like a waterfall
as I followed you
through lush forests
in search of secret places.
I sit beside you
as twilight
turns to night.
Your hand slips
from my grasp.
The leaves
no longer whisper.
You steal into
the moonlight
along a path
I cannot follow.
I sit
in the hollow space
you leave behind.
