LOT, AFTER SODOM AND GOMORRAH BURNED

​It’s late, and I miss you,
so I take a walk—no mind the circling sandstorm.
 
I want to go back,
to our home,
 
where we last saw each other.
I want to see
 
the smoke, the ash black
as your eyes. How they shone under the moonlight.
 
I want you back, want to say Here
is my robe, my beard, my mouth, my mourning…
 
Want to say It hurts to live
without you. How much I would give
 
to hold
your hand again. I would settle
 
for an accidental brush
of fingers.