Cigarette burns,
harvest yellow
and past apologies.
Words I spoke to you
before you became a ghost.
Before I frittered away days,
like I was taking
that old Greyhound
to see you.
A trip that seemed
to take forever.
Stopping at every town
along the way.
The days fade,
but I can still see your face,
and not just yours.
The other place
gets fuller every day.
One day,
I will take a ride,
sometime along my way,
to see you again.
Until then,
I’ll make do
with these old,
faded pictures in my head.
HG – 2019