wait
in the dark
for him to come
home.
breathe
in the black,
hear all the world
contract.
spark
a cigarette
to see the door,
still, closed.
move
in bed,
the new space
is cold.
pick
up the phone,
dial six numbers,
hang up.
climb
out of bed
and walk
to the window.
snow:
soft shreds
of cloud
toppling, incalculable.
release
the heat, invite
the chill, your hand
now open under winter.
blink,
so it all
seems less
a casualty.
it is
and then is not,
like so much
of who you are.
blow
the smoke into
the wind, everything
becomes the winter.
touch
your brow
and choke
on the quiet.
it is
in these moments,
when you are left
with yourself.
scratch
the trunk of your waist
to your breast
to your throat,
life
can only feel
what you offer
it,
so throw
your body back
to the bed,
scream
into the unborn
day ahead,
crawl to the end
of your happiness,
stand
tall and walk now,
slow but steady,
toward the closet.
it
was always
in your hands,
but tonight
you see it.
tie
a noose,
or pack
and dress.