I am losing sight of you
amongst bustling commuters, and between
the fingers over my eyes.

losing you is like waking from
a brief dream,
like wiping the dust
that accumulates in corners,
but never quite getting it all.

losing you is knowing
it will rain tomorrow, and that I need
rubber boots.
It is not finishing
a book and leaving the bookmark
in the middle for months.

I am slowly losing sight of you
in busy markets and
amidst crowded thoughts,
silently watching the tips of your grey hair
reflecting some lone rays of sun.