All Now is Light and Air

Once, there was no such thing as love.
 
But I still hear your voice  
when trees sway in the wind.  
 
Sweeter than an Oreo,  
supple as a teenager’s imaginings.  
 
We’ve lived through the deaths  
that abound throughout life.  
 
We’ve played Scrabble game  
after Scrabble game, fingers interlocking.  
 
I still see you finding those words,  
and grinning, outlandishly proud.  
 
I still recall our touch.  
 
But now much has become blank  
as the diary I decided to write last January  
 
(long after you’d left,  
shortly after we’d all gone mad),  
 
as faded as late dusk.  
 
Now much is gone,  
whether your laugh, your voice,  
 
your love of donuts, and  
my heart writhes with ghosts,  
 
even as the velvet sky  
bleeds memory.