Missing

At night I can see her
In the places I look . . .
Her glass of red wine,
The couch, with a book.
When I see her, I smile,
My heart misses a beat.
I've missed her so long;
Her image is sweet.
She catches my glance,
Returning my smile,
Then vanishes, leaving
The empty floor tile.
And I lose her again
Every night, every time
And the wounds become fresh
With every clock chime.
I try to forget,
Carry on, fighting forth
But the memories haunt
Of that night on the porch . . .
The rain driving down
As she kissed me good bye,
Her turning to wave
At the end of the drive.
The inky black night
As it took her away.
Would I ever have guessed,
I'd have begged her to stay.
Hours ticked passed,
And months turned to years;
Never knowing for sure
If she'd ever appear:
The groceries she'd gone for
Loading her arms
She'd took a wrong turn -
No need for alarm.
Or maybe she'd sat
With an old friend she knew,
And lost track of time
Over coffee for two.
Our door stays unlocked
Every night, every day
Lest she ever return.
I can pray . . . I can pray.

(11/11/2007, Amber M. Graham)
Inspired by a photoset by Milwaukee John