I visited your place yesterday.
I knew you wouldn’t be home.
I didn’t go in.
Just visited the tree.
The one just outside your window,
where the squirrels and birds would play.
I thought maybe, maybe,
if I looked up,
I’d see your reflection looking out.
Down on me.
[I sense you more when I’m back here,
in the air coming off the lake.
I wonder if the cashiers at Target
notice your absence. ]
But you’re too far to touch.
Farther than just three stories up.
Only close enough to feel,
in the damp bark of the tree.