Storm Shutters

Berdychiv, my home 

I miss you inconsolably.

A line drawn down

 Inside of me 

Pulls a weight, I cannot bear.

The same sidewalk does not 

Linger, gone in the summer 

The ash-fall, the winter that 

Follows me everywhere. 

Little hands, little faces

Chalk, leaves, scent of smoke

From a cigarette, then

A kind of nothing that

Fills the air.

Close the window

Beloved. 

I'm not in the wind

And I will find

No traces of you

Out there.