Loss

[busker]

Loss

I’ve forgotten most of it
except how I wanted you,
the reader, to feel when the shadow fell
over my shoulder, to know my sudden startle
mistaking the change in light she might have made
for maybe a cloud’s passing or nothing
more than a lapse in the workings
of my hands as I tend the flowers.

The conceit in bold is likeable, but there’s too much preamble.
The last line is a nice finish