suitcases, continued

3.
You will make everything fit
into a finite space–the bails of hay
a container for grief–

He stacks, you sweep–
There is no sweeping, not tonight.

This–is–called—-
weeping
where he lay sleeping
or is it—–
the falls, the canyon, your journey

Stack and fill and stack
the walls emerge in her vision–
you look away–find the bags–
move to the next new moment.

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