last night in the apartment.
Now you are young; but give it a minute.
Accumulation is the easiest art.
Borne over the sea, the avenue, the intervening oleanders,
the blue-blushing goddess Departure wants a word.
Clouds gather in the corners of what used to be
your room. Only Love is recognizable. Lost suits
and sandals, testaments and stains, all these
have surrendered. The proper aperture for loss
is very small. The fact of the matter is, dear: there will be others.