After you've gone . . .

I fill the kettle too much

I look for the gates to be open

I walk the house for signs of you

I wake wondering what's wrong
            something is different
                     something has changed

I'm the one to run to the postman's knock in my pyjamas
      (a funny place to hear a knock!)

I share the joke with myself, knowing you'd laugh.

I listen to the silence
           and I wait . . .