November

November

3 a.m., Pam coughing angrily

5, quiet, the night has filled
with those no longer here,
things unsaid, things never said,
forgiven, my books unread,
long efforts past—
a rich and healing dark
made of the forgotten,
the way a color wheel
spins white

7, gray touches the window,
Pam breathes evenly,
the other side of the wall

Seattle

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