poem

Haven't written poetry in a while, but this struck me a minute ago. Don't know if it works, but I like the feel of it.

missing persons

Half of you is absent. Once, I knew you
whole, and the loss is disconcerting.
I do not know who I
will meet, across the breakfast-table
in the morning.
You are someone new every day.

Sometimes I worry
that I will never see you again,
that I'll be stuck
with an endless parade of strangers
who smile and laugh, make pleasant
conversation, look at me
out of your glassy eyes.
(if they were windows,
birds would lie
crumpled on the ground outside.)

I would like to know
where you went, but I don't think I would follow
if I did.