Effigy

I have to wonder sometimes if you caught
just a snatch of the Orphean song
on your way past the hall. I admit
that I've omitted most of my other wonderings
until now, but then we don't often get the chance
to talk. As long as I'm admitting things,
I guess I'll confess that I miss the way
you used to reluctantly let the neighbor's cat
nuzzle against your ankles. I also miss
your uncanny ability to neutralize any
lingering uncertainty with your mere presence
and the old jokes you always used to make,
straight-faced, about the dihydrogen monoxide
that's getting into our water. I don't think I
realized how many of my habits had
merged with yours until now, when you're
gone, and I unexpectedly discover myself
doing things that remind me of you, like
turning up the collar of my coat or waiting
for nothing at the window, just watching
the street. While I'm standing there,
I often wonder if you'll be
as I remember when
I finally cross the
wide, foggy
marsh that
separates
us.