When I have gone

what waits this room

with its vacuum

                where I sat?

 

Does

my chair sits sightless

musing at my absence

midst space bereft

                   my music play on?

 

After I have left

ask my empty bed

all sheeted void

                about my dreams

 

Does

my mattress dent

minding my long night wraiths

maintain my form

                   miss my mass?

 

There may be so clear a fissure riven

through the house

that absence will call forth

                threnodies of loss

 

Does

some trick of splintered light

some breath in schismed air

some flicker of synapse

                   sense my past?

 

When I have gone

what will fill this place

with joyful passion

                where I loved so many years?