Chanting Your Return

Walk over here.

Not there.

Walk back.

Not there.

Every swipe

of the second hand

brushes back the dust

that settled in my life

when you flew away.

But its only a migration

pulling wild mountain time,

under snow cap melted sun

and your voice is a ghost

haunting the words of songs,

promising return.

Right now.

Not there.

Left then.

Not there.

In every empty direction

on the solid sidewalk street

the signals all sign caution

and time's traffic slows

under the flashing yellow sun.

But in each situation 

I would wake and find you gone

my sleep always remembers

the you that sneaks past

my thoughts

and smiles a mantra

chanting your return.