Dissolution

Because he broke the sun
the box of morning
closed tight as regret

and you left
like the susurration of breath
from a dying woman.

You wore his anger all day
while you walked the street,
bled color like a butterfly

because the suture of his last kiss
did not heal you
or change your mind.

When the rain followed you home,
you closed the door and windows.
You sealed up

like an unopened box, plain
brown wrapper, no return
address, no stamp

to say where you've been,
no date to tell how long ago
he left.

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