I hear
my breath,
now that
you’re gone.
Steam cleans
smudged mirror
often shared.
Dust motes
sparkle where
your picture
once smiled:
Framed identity
fades into
time when
gifts exchanged;
Unique view
a present
never meant
to give,
Leaves me
gasping air—
choking on
the mist.
YVNIII 3/4/09