Dead Air

I see your image; it faintly floats
secretly amid the dust motes.
Across the room, they slowly drift,
and as the light begins to shift,

your form has color. How you shimmer!
Do my tears make you brightly glimmer?
Through unfocused orbs, I cannot tell
whether you wish me ill or well.

Not a word do you utter,
as I watch you shudder,
and disappear into the air,
but I know that you were there

before the sun moved through the sky,
I held you with stars in my teary eye.