THE LEAVING OF LUANNE

last day in your loft,
goodbye is suitcases
banging against my knees,
and the one moment
the day unclenches its fist
and a kiss
floats up out of its palm

a woman
is a city
is a nightlife
is a cozy retreat

a woman is
a stark privileged moment
when her still sleeping body provides
a candid wakefulness
when I shuttle words
across a blank page
and scratch out "love" three times
before leaving it there once

this will be the last house
with such a spacious, airy attic,
the last mattress
tucked into a deliciously apt angle,
the last art books
sprawled across the floor,
the last canvas stacked up
at the head of all the others,
my face in water-colors
saying goodbye to
who it'll never be again

© John Grey