We take our rest
in the car ride over.
Your eyes closed to Hayden,

The slow movement almost reaching
beyond the Lexapro,
and I want to say something,

but we’ve already arrived
at her driveway and five inches of snow.
we drag shovels across the ground

in tandem silence, spot two
city deer nose through the broken pines,
bring inside what’s left

of her mail, purge the fridge
of the food past expiration.
And like ruthless movers, we keep going—

Caved in boxes full of religious art,
novena beads stapled to cards promising
every desire fulfilled to whomever recites this

I stack mail next to the olive wood nativity,
Joseph, clad in dust, bending to his son,
the kings holding gifts they can never give.

Everything here bearing witness to this waiting
for a sign—her single panes letting in that frigid air,
that misleading sun flooding her kitchen

with its relentless light.

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