When she’s gone,
He stands in the street that runs outside his home
And searches for his face
In the eyes of the crowd.
The wind is still, fettered perhaps
while leaves look for echoes in the silence of afternoons.
And as he walks,
He leaves behind alternate selves,
Some dropped near his footmarks on the beach,
Some at the coffee table,
Some at the watering hole
While the band plays a song it assembled yesterday.
Love is a four letter word, he thinks,
It does not take much space.
Space that is fluid,
A week ago it was a sea.
Since then it has flown to form a wall.
The vacuum expands,
One breath at a time.