Amble

I sulk across the room to feed you,
hold your hand, tell you everything
will be fine. It is the right time of night,

the light from the street falls onto the chair
at the perfect angle. I look at you, gray,
shimmering, persnickety. Don't move, this

is just the dust, helping me see. I tap
a new song into the carpet, softly. I know,
I know you're there. And when a

wind slips in through the cracks in the
window or when the light shifts and you
lose patience and substance, I still know.