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An Arrangement of the End

Elisa Gonzalez

Ah, there:
the space on the floorboards
where he last sat
braced against the white bedframe,
face averted from the window,
the streetlight,
and my face, streaked
with occasional siren reds and blues.
Once, newly acquainted with this room,
it seemed to me the space I had been looking for
in another earlier portion of my life,
and with him I walked around proclaiming,
Here is the bed. Here is the window.
Here is the door.