“So go then,” she said,
referring to the way the river
was drained
of water.
Your front porch was filled
with wind chimes,
filling
the corners of the deck,
filling your house
with hollow sounds.
One day your belongings
began
to disappear.
Windows opened –
latch-less –
let in the low drones
around
an empty fish bowl
of river water.
You disappear,
leaving an empty chair
for the mortician
to prepare,
broken kite strings
on the legs.