This is the moment I've dreaded:
Coming back alone to this emptiness called "home"
You've only been gone an hour, it's true--
And yet, as I wander through the rooms
Everywhere I turn I'm forced to recall
Where you were, and what you did:
The glass you used or a towel--
Still damp, but neatly folded;
A tissue, overlooked and left crumpled
On top of a dresser; or a chair
Pulled out from the table at a characteristic angle;
And in the sink where dishes are stacked
Unwashed I see, but politely rinsed
Yes it's a sadness that permeates
When the sun's final rays
Spread across the kitchen floor
In a little while, all will be dark
As curtains are drawn
And the world shrinks back up
It has only been an hour, but when you're alone again
The seconds stretch out long--until a life is over
And the hour becomes forever.
