The House That Remembers You

I keep your absence

in a jar beside my bed

It settles like blue dust

whenever the room goes quiet

At midnight

the walls remember you better than I do

They creak in the places

where your laughter used to hang

Outside the moon

is a coin nobody wants

and the trees keep shaking

as if trying to empty themselves

of old conversations

I thought grief would arrive

like thunder

Instead it came barefoot

moved into the smallest corners

and taught the dust

how to spell your name

Now morning enters carefully

Even sunlight seems afraid

of touching what you left behind