on a day of small sadnesses,
the weight beneath the eyelids
deepens. rupture scars the split
of last year and this. a lacuna
gasps as a part is given away.
like an extrication. like detritus.
like the unwinding of a tight
intertwining. the rain falls in
a circle, as ever with the walking.
a break of the brain fog. one
city rummages through the
next. new york is future.
new york is past. a loss is a
gash is a wound. i batted
the voices away, red wine
between the fingers. i counted
the snow piling on a window sill.
i remembered the quiet before
we made coffee and tea. fear
held up in my throat. the
warmth was beginning
to thin.