A life packed up and put away
Nothing left to do or say
He was here his smell still there
The flinkering fan and the staircase stacks of news and forms
A three-quarters-drunk jar of Folgers crystals
Epistles and telephone messages settle down to the ground
A little black radio quieted of sound
Slow methodical walking
The rage and fury broken apart, annual ice becoming the sea
[[In-content Ad]]
