Empty Bed

Half the night is gone
When I stumble to the bathroom,
By tradition kept lit,
As guiding beacon for children
Adrift on the sea of sleep.
By her room I stop and,
Half-remembering some teenage promise
Of return to this inessential harbour,
Clink through the glass curtain.

Her bed is empty,
Unnaturally kempt,
A scatter cushion ranged symmetrically
On a turned back cover,
The carpet uncluttered.
Suddenly I yearn for her,
Her warm body, its huffing breath.
Is this how it will feel
When she is gone away?
I inspect some relics of youth:
“Luv Ya, Tash” in lipstick
On a mirror, those crazy,
Five-in-a-booth, photographs,
Johnny Depp.

All is as it should be,
The observance of time
Not halting its acceleration,
The chichi daughter discovering
The possibilities of life.
I foresee our pining
By an empty bed,
And its strange exhilaration.
Shutting off the light
I go to dream of long horizons
And a skipping girl.