After you’ve gone
All the things you are
Come back to me
It’s almost like being in love
But beautiful

jazz that text
till it sings
till only singing
will diminish it
till ebb exposes that
which only flow has known
stones shells bones
posing as lasting things
memory’s moment knows no present
imagines it is as it had been
it’s this that’s that
scatting riffs best left unsung
till home
in stillness
that absence
this trope