MISSING

How do I walk in Spring
without your eyes that fathom
creatures camouflaged in tenderest green
without your ears that discern
the timbre of their lilting lyric
reveal to me the identity of the songstress?

How do I gaze as oceans tumble
foaming white breakers
churning dung brown wash
iced needles sprayed, flung fierce into my face
as I head into a storm alone
without your broad back to shield me from its onslaught?

How can I smell gorse blossoms
fresh explosions disdaining deadly winter
yellow fire against slate grey horizon
to herald life after death
when you have finally left me
to death after death
despite my living?

How I strain to hear your footfall
your peculiar hum
your unexpected snatches
of half remembered arias
your definitive shuffling of papers
a tap tap tap on the mahogany bureau?
I detect nothing but the tock of the clock
in the hall, air standing still in the parlour
suspended as speckled frost
old memories on the walls
the smell of oleander pressed
in heavy tomes stolen from someone's library
Time runs dry and falls disinterested...

How can I pick up a phone again to dial
wait for your voice at the other end
announcing yourself and your business-like intent?
All that remains is the recording
slicing open my heart
No, you are no longer yourself
You have no business being there in the phone
in the office, in the city
in my world...

How can I move again
make any move now you're gone
when there's no shoulder to my shoulder
no answer to my hailing
no protest to my pleading
no softening to my pigheaded ways
or laughter at my folly?
Nor any touch, look or whisper
that confirms that you are home
where I need you to be
so I am home, even if at sixes and sevens,
sat right there in the middle of your heart?