Pain
Your absence is not what you think.
It’s not your chair expecting company
or mail left unopened.
It can be moonlight.
I think of how I find happiness:
I’m walking in a meadow,
sun full on my face.
It comes not because
I miss thorns and nettles.
It comes because
my feet sink into sweet clover
and I smell wild roses before
I spot them spilling
over the split rail fence.
I know you by your presence.
One day
I’ll set your phantom free
but not until
I fill your void with light.
I Could Be Wrong 