It is like an Easter egg hunt
finding all your empties:
each bottle haphazardly and half-heartedly
concealed on bookshelves
in closets, in blank grocery bags.
I swept out your room,
where your dog slept.
I mopped the old floor
care-worn scraped-up
and looked at the pictures
of other places hung up
placating this space is anxious.
When did you start
gripping secrets? When did
time start piling up on your heart
until a head start
became a departure
what cure is instant (none)
and which plan is the One
that makes a resolution?
For now loss spills outward
your cardboard cutout
has replaced you.
And I’ll keep my headphones on
to keep my mind from moving back in.
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