handholds

handholds

when you left, all redundant cooking and trembling tears, my future got mixed up in your hurried carrier bags; mislaid within your shampoo, tangled in the underwear i just about remember, shrouded by the jumpers that always smelled of you. i’ve looked everywhere, but i am unable to find it; i no longer remember it’s shape or taste. and i know, from the glacier avalanching your tired eyes, that you can’t give it me back; won’t give it back. now, my gaze has jammed; old machinery sagged to gasping. a thousand yards is all i can manage, at a stare. even then, i’m grasping at air; autumn roses and wheelie bins as handholds, as paving passes by beneath shattered feet; moving like a river i do not remember how to enjoy. blanking my gaze, i move hollowed. i can’t face the now in front of me; but i can’t face, the not yet i can no longer picture.