We talk a lot of absences
How they emphasise
The emptiness of rooms
How they slow down time,
How they make us long
For the briefest of connections.

And yet, as we stare into the distance,
We miss what may be more precious:
An extra blanket laid out at night,
Chatter we filter out as noise,
The clutter of personal effects
Strewn about a room.

Presences, taken for granted
Until those too, are gone.