there's a hole by the bedroom doorway,
one on the floor in front of the bathroom sinks.
twin holes are forlorn
spaces by the baker's rack.
there's empty sound
whenever the fridge is open,
cheese packages and apples
leave silence in their wake.
there's an empty spot behind me,
as I warm my feet at the deck's edge.
where once sad eyes peaked
over the top stair, there is absence.
but the worst hole of them all,
the gaping tear in my heart,
is the one most empty,
the one that cannot be filled.
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