You fill the idle minutes
and margins of calendar days
crowded with city traffic,
meetings, and company clatter.
Images of the tracks we left
in melting snow and juniper
pressed against mountain
mahogany fill the space
between lines of marketing copy
and attachments waiting for production.
No matter the direction my day spins,
you are north in the compass of drifting
thoughts, the trembling exhalation
of breath I pull deeply into me
when the air of your absence
condenses into a pressing mist.
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