When you are gone

Source: berlin artparasites

I've got discolored
like pastel
that has expired
losing its oil,
and no coherence.

I've committed suicide
like leaves
when they feel yellow.

And when you leave
I fall,
and falling
as though the sky is collapsing
when it cannot hold the tears.

There is only memory
an archival of conversation
and of geographies
where we met seldomly.

Your words,
the ways of doing
this and that
wrote poetry of the impossible
softest touch,
the fondness. 

There is no bird song,
or the dancing wind,
I can write of.
Not even the sound of wave hitting rock
when it bursts in sudden joy.

But now perhaps
I can write of trembles and sobs
and other sad things.