It’s not the same without you here.
I’m less inclined to sit and stare out
the open window
at the sweet-winged visitors amongst
waiting for the words to find their way
through that oculus, transformed and
upon the white page spread before my
I get up, instead, wander – shapeless,
aimless – into the kitchen and load
that dark and hungry box, like so many,
that must continually
be fed and filled with the mundane.
When I return, the empty chair remains.
Empty of –
— C.Birde, 10/20