The State Of Not Being Present (Poem)

The train sounds its mournful cry.

They are gone now,

No longer present to hear the whistle,

To see the graffitied cars roll past,

To feel the ground rumbling beneath their feet.

I can say no more

Let us have a cup of tea

And offer the latest from China.

But I can hold them fast

In memory and by recounting the many stories

Of how they lived while they were here.

Love and all we shared does not disappear.