Sit With Your Ghost

You're not here, so

I sit with your ghost,

staring at the place where you sat the most.

Your empty wine glass,

an empty toast.

The champagne you'd bought on the day you passed,

left corked for days,

weeks, years...

I could fill the bottle with all these tears.

I don't know how to tell you that I'm not all right,

so I sit with your ghost

and wish that your ashes could

hold me tight.