Gone


The midwinter-ache of absence
Makes it easier to live amongst the vanishing
Gives you something to focus on
While time denies you closure

To be the one left behind
A vagueness worn like a tattooed Rorschach test
Never able to attain the distance needed
To resolve into the clarity of grief

All those faces on the posters
Bloat like dying stars beneath the rain 
Their light turning to papier-mache husks
Singularities of rot
Exerting their hollow gravity