The baseboard lifted. The light
was absorbed into the carpet. I tried.
I cried when you left me, but it was only
for a year then the drug of your sweetness
reformed into a mild sadness, washing my
nerves with the thin film of egg whites.
I imagined you sleeping curled up by the door. I imagined
your voice in the morning, lonely and frantic for affection.
Those nights when we said our long goodbye – one night
when our eyes met and I thanked you and you thanked me,
was a gift without fault, was your dignified funeral – the rest
was husk, instinct, the result of your physical pain.
The rest when remembered breaks my belief, but then
I know your life was good and I know we had
fifteen years of warm connection,
we had love.