The empty chair is filled with your absence, we are waiting for your return so certain you will return, how could you not come back? The fierce worlds the demented seas the glaciers mined with crevasses the sensuous bodies you wanted to explore will one day loose their attraction, won’t they? Unrepentant perhaps, but you will again, some day, fill that chair with your presence. Forget the flowers, bring me solace for my 83rd birthday. Won’t you, she said?