Absentee

Absentee 

Separated by a moment

of cinnamon,

she moves close

to occupy a flower garden.

Bristling at the thought

of a river,

in the seconds lost willing,

keeping her fingers crossed

in shallow pockets.

Never before 

letting the taste escape,

touching in small circles,

falling through holes

in the soft ground.

A tear set in motion.

And everything

is not so average 

anymore.

The music

could not be loud enough,

the message was unclear.

And she catches herself cleaning,

pulling thorns

where the Lilies’ used to be.