Candombe
or: Tango for one
I hear them whisper
revolving in the wind
faintly and distant
still elusive at best
I long for their presence
yet I cannot avail my
self of their closeness
nor comfort those who can
I sense them fleeting
then trading here for there
betrayal of memories
with mere absence to share
That leaves but a rumble
murmurs of solitude
while sounding its footprints
in a constant farewell