73
sonnet for the hour you leave
Lio Fenwickyou dress the way you always dress to go,one sock, then thought, then the other sock, then thought.i watch you the way the shore must watch the slowreturning of the water it forgot.
there is a version of this where i speak,where i say the sentence i have folded smalland carried like a stone against my cheekfor weeks. i do not say it. not at all.
instead i memorize the door, the light,the exact degree the morning leaves you in,so later, in the long adjacent night,i can rebuild you from the discipline.
stay, says everything i am and own. "text me when you're home," is what i say. alone.