It's so quiet
I can hear the corn grow.
The wind chimes hang lifeless on the porch.
The local dogs have abandoned the moon.
Even this old house
has left off its litany of complaints
and fallen silent.
I miss the sound of your breathing.
Since you've been gone,
but for chocolate and Corona.
I've charted new constellations.
I've whispered poorly composed laments
and non-specific prayers.
But nothing I do
slows the leak of my color
trailing after you
through the hole of your leaving.
Submitted to Poetry Jam.