Strewn

It is all here
And there
The disarray
The fragments strewn
There and here and nowhere
In between
The clothes you wore
The tools you used
Notes you wrote
And books you read
The grease-stained John Deere hat
The chair in which you sat
Your glasses
With a smudge on the lens
Your fingerprint
Perhaps
A memory
A ghost
Your voice which once bellowed
Subaerial
Now slips in with the passed
Away
Distorted and coming apart
Ethereal threads soaked
And dissolving beneath the surface
Of the river water that won’t stop
Flowing
Under the bridge
Further away with each tick
Of the clock
The bitter moment stretches
The realization that my words
Will reach your ears
No more

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