I ache for gray that won’t come, waiting for the very last
day when summer stumbles into fall, and gray comes with buckets of rain and a
mood of vacancy, my envisioning your empty house, where you used to reside,
piled high with boxes of possessions, some destined to accompany you into the
next life, others condemned to a Good Will bin, like old and now abandoned
friends, you will not likely ever see again.
I see all this done in a blind rush, inspired by some
necessity I can only surmise about, if not in panic, then in a determination to
seek a new destination, and cast this shadow of doubt into the deep past to
forget about entirely, and in this last moment, in this last place, the echo of
your footsteps made louder by the vacancy, like the space of an extracted
tooth, or a memory partially recollected, but not quite, but soon forgotten.
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