When did I miss you?
Let me count the ways:
Only 24 hours of every day
and night—especially the night,
when only your ghost appears
in my empty room under the shadows
of the moon to watch me massage
your back until you fall asleep.
Your departure feels like I might
as well had my right arm torn off
at the Yalu River in our hasty retreat.
Now only the vibrating hum of my
phantom limb keeps me company.
Drenched in tears, I struggle to sleep
as I sing the best hymns of the Blues.