Visiting Rites (Poetry)

Some nights I sense him standing
in my doorway
some nights I feel him breathing
on my skin
I say his name in hope that
he might hear me
and try to think of ways
to coax him in

Yet he remains outside my
line of vision
near but still not close enough
to touch
not really here — he’s lost in
some dimension
impossible to reach — the rules
are such

the dark veil’s kept in place despite
all longing
though air might twitch as with
his wistful sigh
imagination sketches soft
his shadow
then faint the echo trembles
with goodbye