Awesome poem. Tender and quietly painful. The repeated turning, “I turn, expecting you there,” then “you are still / not there,” and finally “you won’t be there, / should I turn around” gives the poem a real ache. It captures that strange grief where the body still expects someone before the mind catches up.

The small details make it feel true too: “the back of my neck / bristles and turns pink,”“your gaited laugh,”“your lovely, clean powder scent.” That’s what gives the memory weight. Soft, intimate, and very easy to feel.