Forgetting

  
I used to leave the lights on
sometimes, those days;
the days when I came home and you were gone
again, and
close my eyes to pretend
you were on your way to
bring me some comfort
or grace.

There were days when I thought I'd forgotten
your face,
perhaps,
or the colour
of your eyes...you'd be gone so long, I'd watch
the blue behind
the clouds of skies that grew greyer
than ever they'd been,
and I'd wonder how
far your journey might be
when the demons called you
this time.
  
Though you were gone, there were glimmers;
mostly at night;
when I thought I saw you in moon or star-light,
from my window,
in impossible dreams;
but they were visions only...
Whatever took you had power far stronger
than me...and I'd wonder
if you fought when it held you,
if you wanted to be free
but it wouldn't let you,
and you were much too proud
to say...

I came home and left the lights on
today...and I wondered if maybe
I'd forgotten your face,
or that knife-edge I used to sit upon...
but I noticed
I have had no earthly want of late,
of watchful walls, with eyes
of blue. And it is one thing
to notice yourself forgetting,
but quite another wanting to.