Sacred sage, cedar,

pine, & sandalwood

burn atop bed of

sea salt covered thick

with yesterday’s ash.

Perfumes caressing

apartment corners,

thin invocations

swirl about locked door.

Outside, charcoal clouds

hide the summer sun–

that absentee landlord

still draining us dry–

while humid shadows

caress the warm brick.

In phantom owl nest

I sit, meditate,

upheld in stasis

between almost-was

and as-yet-to-be…

embracing nothing

refraining from all…

when does Chris return?

my great friend, my soul!

his mind, his spirit

so absent from me

yet already here.

awaiting the beloved

returned from labor,

back into my arms,

with a gentle smile

concern unlocking.