In Loving Memory of Robert M. Esposito

The Weight of Your Light"

Your chair still leans toward the window,

as if waiting for your return—

sun pooling on the armrest

like a hand that never left.

I speak to the air sometimes,

and it answers in the hush of curtains,

in the creak of the floorboards

that remember your step.

Grief is not the absence of you—

it is the shape you left behind,

a hollow that holds

the weight of your light.

And though the seasons turn

and the garden forgets your touch,

I carry your voice in my marrow,

where time cannot reach.