Three years flip past on the calendar,
The air still carries a hush in the room.
A silence that still folds through the day,
Pressing yesterday on into tomorrow.

I pour coffee, trace the rim with a thumb,
Remebering the weight of your hand.
Steam curls like a question unasked,
The clock keeps its indifferent march.

Outside, leaves turn without permission,
Rivers forget the names of their banks.
Walking the roads, but the map has shifted,
Every corner a mirror, every shadow a ghost.

I keep the door unlatched for echoes,
Let the wind carry hints of your voice.
The ache a tide that learns new shores,
While I learn to swim in its undertow.