Reflecting on your absence

caused me to consider a list

of a few the things I cannot do:

Sort the colors of the wind.

Count the water in my hand.

Or, ask for the sommelier at Denny's.

We always laughed about that.

Knowing all of this to be true,

I would add another item to my list:

Remembering the sound of your voice.

I can see it now, but cannot hear it.

And I always listened. I listened to all of it.