LEAVING THE ROOM WE SHARED

You pack with order and method
folding each item neatly
I throw mostly bags in my suitcase
empty bags.

On the table, a green glass
breaks light in all directions.
Before we go, we must record
our Duet Cantabile in a church

across the street. I point up.
Gargoyle, you say, a guttural
gargle. Voices in unison,
we climb in pitch until we reach

that final note, high and pure
like a seventh wave
but it’s flat. We’re laughing.
We must leave. Or start over.

PUBLISHED IN THE WHALE ROAD REVIEW, September 2024