I can still feel the warmth
in the crater your body made.
There is a valley where you laid your head
upon my pillow, and left a cauldron
in the bed beside me;
and now you're nowhere to be seen.
I awake to an empty bed pasted
to a thief, a pallid landscape
distilled from morning shadow.
Soft sculpted hills harbour the belief
that you will return to me.
But you abandoned your canyons
in the crease of the sheets.
Soft snow is sifting down
filling the hollows of your harsh
footfalls; cracked, they collapse
in the path on your way to the car.
I am your unfinished project
like the sweater I tried to knit
and left to unravel, bit by bit.