Sister Eurydice

The dead don’t ask
to be followed-

But I followed
you anyway.

I don’t remember
the sound of
your footsteps,

yet somehow I hear
your footsteps
behind me,
soft as dust
settling into my mind.

Maybe it was only memory.

I don’t have faith enough
to turn around
and believe
you won’t disappear.

“Love doesn’t look back,”
I heard a voice whisper
from the dark.

Not from doubt.

And not from hunger.

From the terrible wish
to see the exact moment
I lost you.

When the silence
first changed.

Then the distance.

Then the terrible
lightness of being.