This evening I fell asleep
by the window. And woke,
unsure where I was, and for this reason,
afraid. I didn’t recognize
the red couch by the wall,
in the reflection. Or, the shadow
of the unused chair pushed
under the table. Two years ago,
I left. I took the things filling
this empty room.
I said to her today, I wanted
to go home, bury everything,
then wake into another life.
I told her she never loved me.
But I know she sees through that,
a man writing behind the glass, masking
his failure to go back in, and love.