After years of enmeshment, our lives diverged,
as if in poetic woods
and silently, we parallel parted.

I thought there’d be closure, but there was no treaty signed —
just the slow vanishing
into separate horizons.

At unexpected intervals, the unbidden returns
to haunt the empty mansion, spook my creativity
and whistle at me — half-encouragement / half-mockery.

The visitation echoes
longer than it actually lasts
and in those ripples, expectation and desire
still beckon Picasso-like
all angles, fluid borders, and jagged edges.

Those edges create shadows, where irritants
lodge as immigrants, vagrants seeking shelter.
Now there are other things there.

With repeated revisiting, I fade-float
into the vision, grasping at the asymmetry
that most resembles reality.