Passing by a place so familiar –
it had only been a year,
I had passed by this place last fall.
It was at the break of December,
a patient drizzle fell from the sky –
over them, birds of Aengus fly.
‘Tis when I anticipated your footsteps towards me,
oh, much to see –
to behold the sight of raindrops coating the bulge of your Roman nose –
to describe you in poetry would indulge jealousy in prose.
So what was to be done – what was to be said?
Much attention was paid
to your footsteps echoing in my empty corridor;
good ol’ Poe if alive, would’ve found his Lenore.
Art by Mike Barr