The Morning You Left

Bats surprise me,

their dark brooding

at this early hour

too gothic. You hoist

your duffel onto your back

and carry your next life

out to the porch.

I follow only so far.

What is there to see?

Certainly nothing

I can claim. That time you hurt

from some great loss,

I no longer remember what,

I do remember trying to comfort.

This is mine. All mine. Not yours.

and I want it, you shouted.

The bats are shy;

they swerve away,

not touching our bodies.

Yours I want to hold too long,

but don't. It is raining.

Only a foolish woman stands out

in the rain waving at nothing.