And I would leave
rushed, maniacal
risk the pain
of catapulting
through window panes
and shards of glass
that give like water
fall ten stories
in an awkward dive,
to hit tarmac
so that she,
on opening that front door
would have said,
"I'm sorry. He can't see you right now"
and we would not have sat
in those pews
wondering how she could wear red
to her husband's funeral
because these are the
random thoughts that come to mind
when you don't want
to say goodbye.
