What I know of endings
has been unremarkable,
 
the way bruised bananas
rot overnight without
 
much fuss. Which is to say
I no longer dread it.
 
Over and over the moon
mutely relinquishes
 
its nightly reign.
I am still practicing
 
my goodbyes when I look up
to find you already gone.
 
Air calmly arranges itself
into your mold.