It was dark in the afternoon.
Your silent house, I watched it
sigh. I watched the blank T.V.
almost willing it on but I did
not want to disturb you.


Your daughter was in your
L.A. dining room of wall to wall
mirrors around her but they
only reflected the table where
she sat back and so she did not
me—her pen moved frantic across paper.

I moved into the living room,
trying to keep away from you,
I didn’t want to disturb you,
while I remembered,

running fingers along the
pictures of family I never see,
the piano that’s been so long
out of tune—

after a minute or two L.A was
still there and you were gone.

She left the dining room,
I left the living room,

the hall seemed silent.

Something washed over the L.A
house—

I could hear the solemn apologies
of that death suite—


The next time I dreamed of you
I was passing old warehouse doors
and such desertion brought me back
to you, to what I miss—I remembered
—they wailed, I did not. I thought then
your leave was timely.

The hall seemed silent as I reached out
to touch your door when something
said- Wait! Death has been here!

Yes. I said. I can here her now—the
solemn apologies—the death suite.

I finally saw,
you wore it well.