By | 1 March 2018

Her handprints are all over
this part of a wet life. 
Coffee mug of unique design.
Red chair, where the cat 
now likes to nap in afternoons,
beside an OKC Thunder basketball. 
My bedroom curtains in beige, 
which I draw and peer through 
when a car parks outside,
alarming the noisy dogs.
Do I half-hope for a driver 
long unseen? Or do I deny 
any prospect of visitation? 
Just hush the canines 
so I can crawl back to bed 
that was last shared weeks 
ago, before hands and arms
that privileged with hugs
for oxytocin thence caffeine
withdrew a last time. 
And left images that 
resound all over the house 
now subject only to hard rain,
cats and dogs plummeting 
till I fall asleep to thuds, and
enter a dry world of dreams.

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