New Jeanland

there are people who
arrive like weather
and leave like weather, too.

no announcement,
no final sentence,
just a shift in pressure
you notice too late
to prepare for.

I remember a voice
that sounded closer than
it should have been, and
a shared silence that
wasn’t empty,
just unclaimed.

We watched things
we couldn’t touch and pretended,
briefly,
that proximity could be borrowed.

I didn’t know what to do
with that kind of closeness.