The year moves on without you in it
Now it is fall without you
I had to close the windows and doors without you coming through
I kept them open for as long as I could
But the baby got cold
I watched the calendar bulldoze
This whole past summer was a lingering heat wave and I remember late August,
our open bedroom window, going through your things with the fan blowing and
the sound of helicopters and the smell of smoke from the forest fire that was
growing, billowing just on the edge of town where we used to swim
They say a natural, cleansing devastation burning the understory,
erasing trails. There is no end
But when I’m kneeling in the heat throwing out your underwear the devastation
is not natural or good. You do belong here. I reject nature. I disagree
In the hazy light of forest fire smoke I looked across at the refineries and
thought that the world was actually constantly ending, and the smell and roar
of the asphalt truck that was idling just out the window, tearing up our street
I missed you, of course
And I remember thinking the last time it rained here you were alive still
And that this same long heat that I was in contained you
And in this same heat I opened the window next to you on your last morning
So you could breathe
And then so you could ghost away
And now so the room will hopefully
Stop whispering
The grind of time I’m not keeping up with
The leaf on the ground pokes at my slumbering grief
Walking around, severed, lumbering
But slowly
Sovereignty reasserts itself
I don’t want it though
And betrayal whines
Who and how could I
Live?