NOTE TO MY EX-WIFE
The home you abandoned,
wears your face.
The street you fled,
bears your name.
I recognise your face
from the streets of your wanderings,
from the names you've since taken.
The road staggers ahead:
a shadow stutters,
wipe dregs off your gourd;
the road I think is drunk.
After the last mourner has gone
who keeps vigil over gravestones?
After the star masquerader has departed
who applauds the starlet?
The runner that boasts of his legs
should remember the road that overcame the hyena.
The frog that prides in its well
should remember the deep sea.