You have been gone two years
not twenty,
not lost at sea
but buried
at the edge of a field
in the coffin your brother built.
I watched
while they lowered you down.

Still, I ache
to gather every atom
of your being from the air–
carbon, hydrogen, oxygen–
and by force of will
squeeze your molecules
and spirit back together,

to be Penelope
running to her returned Odysseus
her eyes brimming with tears,
throwing her white arms round his neck,
kissing his sea-weathered face,
holding him as if forever.

But, my hands slip through
the space in front of me,
and my arms return empty
to hold only me.