Random Acts of Poetry

Random Acts of Poetry

Afterlife

When you stopped speaking to me
when you refused to exist,

in any undreamlike way,
I tried to send you a message,

typing virtual letters
on a bright screen,

thinking I could create there
some verbal spell

that would prod you
back to life. You have reduced me

to this with your absence.
Were you ever there at all?

Ever read
"The Turn of the Screw"?

I must assume
you know a lot about the void,

vacuum fluctuations,
being like a hole in the dark,

your face only visible
out of the corner of my eye.

Wishful thinking
can still make much

of motes in the air.
And so your presence,

your vague perfume on the wind,
startles me awake.