Even If Not There

I cannot remember the last time
I first saw your face.
But if I were to guess
it would be the moment
I couldn’t identify your features
or distinguish them from any
other synapse. Even though
you are gone to me now
I hold your absence as I would
any other skirmish of air
or handful of glass that used
to carry our reflection.
Somehow you ask me about
the beginning of religion
and I said that it starts
at the back of the throat
and ends with the lips.
We only hear the vowels between
which distracts us from knowing.
And so we embrace. We touch.