He has left pieces of himself
In places he can no longer find.
Flakes of skin
That settled into dust
That others have wiped away.
Every time he turns around
He is no longer there.
He has left his absence
In every room he has ever entered,
Rooms that are now always locked.
No one recalls his leaving.
He wants to believe that sound waves never die.
That we just can’t listen strongly enough
To hear them as they fade.
He has been listening for his first I love you
But the air is silent and thin.
When he lifts his hand to the sun
He can see it shining through his skin.
Was he ever here?