Because of your absence
I feel achingly where my skin meets
the air,

moving gentle through the branches,
blowing them slow like kelp forests,

moving not me where my skin
meets the air,
moving gentle.

Where you used to walk
there are limbs down, because we’ve
been having storms.

It’s all becoming disarray in your absence,
the trees are growing u-bends
and their roots

wander confusedly to the surface
where they are scarred by
surface-dwellers.  We don’t know
how to take care.

And pollen is coming down yellow
in sheets, some kind of
warning, we are confused

by fertility.

Your absence is with us like our shadows,
which fly up in the breeze
and flap before and behind,
growing and shrinking in magnitude.