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