on the day before you left
I watched your freckles as you slept
I rubbed your wrist and wondered where the cartilage connects
and if we were both happiest with me breathing out against your neck
would we ever leave the house again?
well I would
wait
on the day you caught that plane
I heard from some old loves again
a phone call from a friend
and a couple of emails, said:
do we ever change? do we ever become un-snagged?
by the old loves
for many days after you left
I held it hardened in my chest, the solid outline of a moving thing
and if you'd asked I'd tell you how
the days that passed emptied it out
until it was a backyard puffball thing
that I kicked
while I was just
walking
and now that everything is done
and all our curdled wishing gone
I can't bring back the outline of a day
where you would
stay
