as your body is gone from me, my voice grows smaller.
i have layers upon me like the matted hair of a cat
and in all my bodily being there is but one small resident of a mouse.
its heart beats so fast i am afraid of it like a thumbprint.
how easily it might be eclipsed.
i push it back underneath the table out of harm's way
where it manages to stay alive, warm like an earlobe,
waiting for your return.