Triggers Poem by John Schulte

In every thing I have left of yours
I hear your voice, I feel your warmth
The pocket watch timely ticks
as I hear you talk

In every thing I have left of yours
I hear your warmth, I feel your voice
The tools on the workbench collect dust
But they have built an empire

The keychain tchotchke has such gravity
And seeing it here brings you back
Unlocking all that was and should have been

Gone yet not far off but further in
Streaming through my blood
Coursing in my discourse
And reveling in my mysteries
I am every thing of yours