Lost Glove at Dusk

An empty park bench keeps your shape in the air

The last light leans low through the tired old trees

I find one lost glove on the path by the gate

Still holding the cold of your leaving with me

At dusk I wait for the day

Falls quiet under the lamps before they bloom

One small glove in my open hand

And a whole lost hour inside the room

The swings move once when the evening wind turns

A paper cup rolls to the edge of the lane

I trace your steps where the sidewalk fades out

Like someone erased but left all the pain

At dusk I wait for the day

Falls quiet under the lamps before they bloom

One small glove in my open hand

And a whole lost hour inside

If you come back, let it be softly

Let the bench know your name again

'Til then I keep this little warm shape

And the park goes dark in the blue of the rain