There’s been a chill in my bones since you walked away.
It follows me,
no matter how many layers I hide under.
No matter how many walls I build.
Mornings waking in a bare bed and the windows are frosted
with the breath of the ghost who once lived here.
Hands wrapped around a steaming mug
and you’re the blue in my fingers.
Rearranging the furniture in an unfurnished room.
There’s a draught under the door
since you last walked through it.
The winter-stripped maple dropped the last of it’s leaves.
I stretch out my barren limbs,
willing you home,
but the nest remains empty.
~~ June Briar Kelsey