a space without you in it:
silent-- but not quite-- falling motes
of dust and grackles outside the window.
how did you take even your smell with you?
how did you pack up any hope of your homecoming?
nothing here obeys the clock,
nothing here is inevitable.
how many cups of whiskey-- how many times
did i wash the cup that your new woman
drank from-- how many
sunlit porch hours--
which one of us is gone?