“Wharf”

 

 

 

 

 

 

I brushed his hair aside and kissed
his forehead softly for the first
and the last time as he laid there
on his bed, perfectly still. And his bed

became a wharf and the floor upon which
I stood became a boat that drifted slowly
away from him, over the sea of time,
and he zoomed farther and farther away

from my vision. And yet I can still see him
clearly, see his closed eyes and pallid skin,
as if I hadn’t moved at all, as if I was still standing
there before him, inhaling what remained of his presence.