You, Again

by Dan Gerber

Perhaps being old is having lighted rooms
Inside your head, and people in them, acting.
—Philip Larkin

After you died, I felt a bit betrayed,
as if you didn’t show up for lunch

or a motorcycle ride we’d planned, a
ceremony you skipped out on.

I am wishing you good health, though
maybe now, that’s no longer a concern.

Maybe I should just wish you well, though
wishes are only wishes and may be,

where you are, simply something long let go. Oh,
I wish you could tell me of your life,

and do you still call what you know now, life?
This separation seems almost comical.

In my consciousness you still breathe,
because I am still conscious, breathing.

When I inhale, your face appears, and
when I breathe out, it dissolves in a smile.