Where is the poem today?

Where is the poem?
Did he leave in the night
without waking me?
Perhaps he kissed me
fondly on the neck,
turning to shake his head,
a wry smile on his lips,
before leaving my room.

Was there business to attend to,
or could this be a getaway
to places I am not prepared
to visit or even know about?
He will pull up his collar and
dig his hands down into his pockets
and hop rails to camps by rivers.

What made the poem leave?
Did we quarrel, poem and I,
and perhaps I have repressed
the pain? I am left just the same.
Is he gone of his own accord
or did I send him packing?