ECHOES

The lonely falling of dust is the only sound
As I just stand on the threshold and look around.
It’s different even though the décor is the same;
The years have intervened – and maybe I have changed.
I thought I’d feel the presence of the past somehow,
Find some trace of our former selves living on now,
Happy ghosts loving here. There should be some mark.
I draw the blinds down against the cold and dark.
I search the drawers in a futile attempt to try
To find something we left here, all those years gone by.
I look at the side of the bed where you used to lie,
Try to recapture the smell of your skin against mine.
Describing my life, I dial your number; you must have gone –
The phone rings out in a foreign city and I hang on.