that imagined space you'd
take up here if you were here
when it's chill night and your blond ghost's
infrared and real and I could grab you now
before at last
at last you're gone
and the wind
ceases and your accident has not yet occurred
tonight
when you fling your face
into the cold water of chance and breathe
it tears my lungs, too, and your facades are
printing
printing on me
that intimacy we knew
before we met and infinitely diverged