With What Is Left

The house is cold and quiet; the kitchen chair is empty.

I search each room, and you are not here.

Your scent and your dented lipstick are

what is left.

With what is left

at the bottom of the pan, you may pour into the sauce.

You may taste its unconditional love and serve it hot

to the people you live for.

You may watch the leaves fall, and walk into the night.

You may be young again.

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