his side of the closet
is vacant now,
save for a handful of white
wire hangers left behind
too fragile and bent
to be useful again.
and you don’t know where he went
(or where he ever really
spent his time) even
when he lay beside you in a bed
which refuses to let go
of his scent.
and as you take another sip
of coffee
by a frosted back window
overlooking the yard
you realize just how cold
were the days
and how hard those nights
despite his constant
presence
in your life
as an early morning snow
begins to fall.
