Shadows of Seeing

Sometimes when I blink
into the sun-cast
shadows of dawn
I think I see you coming,
far off and indistinct,
yet getting closer.
I rub my eyes
to be sure,
but that wipes
you away again.

Sometimes when I think
Spring is coming,
the blues that wash over me
go away, and I smile
letting warmth and sun
and memories like
country cornbread baking
slide in to where
loneliness lived.

Sometimes I blink,
not with tears
at the shadows where you live,
but with memories.
No you are not gone,
but getting closer
to the shadow
I dwell in
with you away.