I clean closets and bookshelves and donate
the once essential, now superfluous
to local charities, uncurious
as to the largess I suddenly make

of bits and pieces torn from a life lived
momentarily in the glare of their
small town, a non-local who sometimes shared
moments of casual togetherness, enough to give

food for talk.  My apartment slips from me
and seems a stranger.  It stares blankly back,
my once-home fading, falling into cracks
of impersonality.

Morning rises under a tepid sun
warming bare rooms waiting no one.