imagination without sun

One for Mrs. B.

I almost spoke to my socks tonight
they were just a shadow
I mistook for the dog

I get confused when you’re gone
familiar things take on a life of their own

it may be my imagination
gone overdrive
to compensate for your absence

I carry on
much the same as I did before
but the tasks reverb
with the hollowness
of a lonely drum
while purpose trickles like sand
until I’m sunk to the ankles
walking slow
in a stagger

I heard your voice on the cd
played it for the dog
who’s missing you already
and it seemed to help both of us

she stretched out
with her paws in the air
and I bucked up
enough to do some dishes
and somehow
the day is gone

there’s only night to go
then the dog and me will bond again
in our walk
on a morning without sun

© Frank Prem, 2009

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