The Chair

I like that empty chair
placed square, so it looks me in the eye.
I see dust recognises the places I never visit anymore
should I worry – should I care – maybe – but believe me I don’t.

Sometimes your laugh still catches me unawares
thrusting itself, in amongst the living and the dead.
I will then stop to take in the uncertain movement of you
expressionless of words, that require no accepting sound.

Whatever you might reason, know you’re still here, never to be
placed in the margins of my life.

I will always identify that those were the good days, bound tightly
into the ebb and flow of us.
Where the sun’s bedding light, scattered into perfect ending delight -
permitting the shapes of the day
to come home, to rest, the night away.

But I should not despair – will not those things
we had
are all still here – dancing boldly through the slip-stream
of my life.

So as I sit, looking at your empty chair as it stares me squarely
in the eye
allowing me to understand that we will always be near...