I know these leaves
are not fragile,
but I’m alone
as I brush past them:
garbage in hand,
clear sky above
sharp with dawn.
The house is empty—
no socks on the floor,
no strands of hair in the tub,
just a few shreds
of cardboard from packing
and the fragile, faint
of your missing soap.

© 2002 Christine Klocek-Lim