Sillage

It’s what remains.

The scent that lingers in the air

When someone passes by. Clinging

to the clothes.

Its foam left on beaches

By breaking waves. Those

That recede and leave

the stony beaches unknowing

they’ve been changed.

It’s the space in bed. Indented place

in the mattress. That takes your

shape. It’s the wake left by a ship breaking

up the sea. The surface which tries

and fails to regain its shape again.

It’s the hollow place where someone

or something has been and gone.

That we convince ourselves are ghosts

Just so there is something to hold.

It’s how you leave me