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