The Sound of Disappearance

What is it that holds you back
from me? I was already yours,

waiting to hear your voice
in a sea of voices, to know

your face as if it were my own,
each habitual trace of your body

an enduring memory.

Now everyday you are moving away
from me, a great bird disappearing

into a halo of cloud; the last sound,
the final sound (I cannot say yours or mine)

a call, a cry or howl.

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