"even if you cannot hear my voice, I am right beside you"

Your absence is a phantom pain,
in my side, my chest, my arms.
When I close my eyes and my nerves
send signals, like radio frequencies,
bouncing back to me the intimation
that you aren't beside me, no matter
how hard I try to pretend, or in
the pretending, I trick myself under
closed lids into believing you
are actually there, and I open my eyes
to an empty chair, an empty space -
my heart leaps outside my chest,
through my throat, my eyes, my mouth,
stretching its arms into the void
you are supposed to occupy. Failing,
always, to find you where I cannot
see you. This is how it is with death
and separation -
Seeing you out of the corner of my eye,
in a crowd, peering down from a window,
sitting at a table in the library, as I
glance down an aisle of books I
happen to pass. I've felt these
pains before, created by the cleaving and
the residue of memory - our bodies do
such things to us, when we're in love.
Were I never to hold you again, I'd still
see you everywhere, especially under
those same closed eyelids I clench now
when, so very close, I knew if I stretched
out my hand it would find yours. Even
if you were not there when I opened
my eyes.

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