This absence reappears.
The absence that makes the rest exist.
Your traces are present,
In order to keep
The windows open, and me –
Gruff and still.
Something has to have happened.
That is your face,
Your nose which looks a bit broken,
Your abnormally thin neck
Your dry-muscled torso under that,
Followed further down
By your long antelope limbs.
The absence that fills the room.
Tin foil, transparent film, foam
Are fragiles that I adore.
Waiting gets my dislike, but pauses
This absence appears to be alive –
A tangible andness that scatters light
And enables me to see
What the artist painted
After one night
Full of dreams…