Listening, I can’t hear you
in the other room where
you used to read and write
long after dark.
I can’t hear your fingers on
the keys, the steady breath
of words blooming like steam
on your page,
Your footsteps, your whistling
or humming odd snatches of
songs—even your silences—
gone,
Leaving only a persistent scent
of absence lingering on the air,
where I spent countless hours
listening.
(c) 2018, by Hannah Six
Dedicated to Rob Bamberger, with heaps of gratitude
for nearly 40 decades of Hot Jazz Saturday Nights
Image: MaxPixel
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