Lux

In broad daylight, too, the light above
your front door
is on. It’s not actually yours,
I know. Not anymore.
I forget when it became somebody else’s,
to tell the truth. But
what does truth have to do with it?
Your truth, it turns out, was never mine,
never ours.
But perhaps in that light,
a truth lives on and thus,
in me. What a tired universe, this truth,
now. Sometimes
I see you walking down the street outside of school.
It’s not actually you,
I know. Not
anymore. But
for a moment
I forget. And that loss
of memory briefly is
the most comforting truth
has been since you.