This place hasn’t changed.
My space remains constant
While yours has been vacuumed
Formless and void.
I bump into traces drifting around all morning,
Specters of a world forlorn and lost.
If only they weren’t real, horrid reminders.
Birds you named continue to fly about,
The handmade beehive still buzzes,
Fish swim gaily, trusting your hand
To feed them at the dimming of day.