Nobody Home

by Columbine

Through rooms emptied too recently to have even lost their echoes
Or settled in the modesty of pale judicious dust
I walk the boards that still call out their old accustomed protest
But know they feel my weight on them no more than shadows must
I want to open windows that the winter wind might enter
And carry off the traces of your presence; they deceive
Instead I scan with eagle's eye for hair or thread or matchbook
A talisman to pick the lock, to tell me I can grieve
As if the first tear shed for you would seal your horrid absence
It feels a grave dishonor after standing by your side
You loved the way I never once gave up on what we wanted
But can I want at all now? Should I try? I can't decide.
The spider on the storm-sill tries to tie me back together
Amazing this, the deftness of her tiny blown-glass hands
It's a pity that the only thing she's caught is my reflection
But it's more than I can hold of you. The spider understands.

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