I’ve lost inches
And miles
Of synchronicity—

Devoured,
Denigrated
By bottles
And pills
And men who discarded me
With Tuesday’s trash
On their way to fetch
The morning paper.

I’ve seen amber lights
Flash
From the loops of my mind
In spirals
Of kisses stolen
As the snow came down,

And our breath hovered
By the open door
Of a stale kitchen—
Like fog on water,
Or haze across a crowded bar.

I saw your shoes
From beneath my car door:
Red stripes,
White laces.

You pulled gravel
From my hair
As the tears fell hard.

And still—
You didn’t leave me.
You never soured
On my habits,
Or my bedroom hair,
Or the rings of black
That circled tired eyes
In the morning.

You watched me
Waver down hallways,
Naked,
Less than perfect—
Older,
And less elegant
Than the women
You were used to.

But everyone absconds,
Eventually.

Your leaving
Was no surprise.
(I don’t know much
About staying.)

No matter, anyway.

My heart has settled
Into its customary pose—
Not quite broken,
Just
Heavy
Where it fell
And never lifted again.