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withering

down from the city
what a pleasant surprise
to find you at home
on my porch –
drinking the last cup of coffee
I wonder
what comforts you now
the same as before

wishing you back
and chewing on pride –
leaning to moments
forgotten to miss
I’ll do your laundry
and know of your eggs –
how you like them
I don’t
but I keep them
for this

soap
the color
of new england roses –
sweaters and denim
have softened with age
habits have
taken me
longer for letting
go of the pieces –
a half written page

sealed to a life
I can barely remember
was a time
before –
I was me
spinning in circles
drunken illusion
of where – and of when
we were going
to be

pardon the mess
had I known you were coming –
might have baked you
a cake –

or burned the house down

. . .

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