I move on,
learn to let go.
But the body, poor dog,
waits for your key in the lock.
"Come to sleep," I tell her
"She's never coming back."
She turns wooden circles
on the bed but will not lie.
"Look," I tell her,
"Stars move."
All night she watches them
while passing headlights sweep
the bedroom walls.
Claudia Mauro
Beacon Hill
