The Room at the End of the House

My loves have left and closed the bedroom door. The cats are out, corridor unshuffled, night’s cold still in the sheets. They’ve gone out for my birthday breakfast, dissolved in the void outside the wall. Chickadee’s trill can’t crack the window fan’s muffle, and glasses unworn on the dusty bedside table blur picture frames book shelf, the bed’s edges where feet and hands starfish out. They’ve gone without goodbyes, without minty kisses. Were they ever here at all, or am I just now awake? We’ve decades more to go together. This blank morning won’t be missed. My dear ones, to not say go away is drowsy chocolate cake. Tie a ribbon round this sweet alone. O luxury to be so left behind, so known.