The universe doesn’t love you, won’t stretch its starry fingers down to caress the gentle nape of your neck, won’t mirror your steps as you tread the potholed roads with their solitary street lamps and dumb craning trees; it does not know what it sees. But I see you, my boy, even in the dark of your absence, even with the walls pressing in on me. When I leave my body and trawl the breathing night, the wet streets sparkle with your tracks, translucent things like trails snails leave, and I trace my way to you. When you leave this place to light up like spring blossom in foreign climes, between drinks and kisses and sweet utterances, stop to wonder why this wind, why the humid traces of an unremembered time, why the earth trembles while the sun smiles. It is my ghost still walking without its body collecting the flecks of you practising its lonely art. Everything it has it sends to you like a spell or a thought so strong it shines, has wings and can fly.