Quiet Tonight

His feet shuffle like sand paper
on the wood floor
down the hallway
to his empty bedroom

There are burn marks where
her hands touched the walls
and oil spots on the carpet
from her leaky eyes.

Sitting on the edge of the matress
he imagines the pressure of her body
on the right side of the bed
warm and restless.

It has been years since
her smile has floated freely
in between the kitchen sink
and the bathroom vanity.

She loved washing dishes;
she would hold her hands hovering
over the water in the sink
and watch the drops fall from her finger tips.

He used to laugh when she told
him she was born of water and fire
as if she were telling some joke
with no apparent punch line.

He sees her now in every puddle
and creek; hovering over the water
like a translucent veil of atoms
that merge the past and present.

After 43 years together
it doesn't seem right that her final resting
place is in the dirt beneath a shroud
of grass and stone

He just could not bear to watch
her in the waves of the lake;
the ebb and flow reminded him too
much of her own heart beat.

He found, though, that
the earth has quieted her spirit
more that he wanted. There is no soft rhythm
with which to measure his own breaths.

Now he lets the faucet
in the bathroom drip continually
just to interrupt the unnerving
quiet of his restless sleep.