The trees rustle and shake
just the same as you did
with your disease
I stay outside quiet and waiting
watch the unkempt days wind and unwind
the dull of metals set aside
called inside themselves.
Are you currently in a place
watching the sings of the gale force wind
the slapping over its banks, water
I keep a vestige of you at last
finally, in me, in loose leaf journals.
I can feel you
the sun sometimes warms
the flowers, the leaves, though still.