I thought that if we let it go—the property—the
daisy field—the dog’s small coffin—the osage orange
tree—its second trunk—held up by wood stands—
her seashell tumblers—their fixed gin—the bomb
shelter forty concrete feet—beneath the ground—we’d
be unlocked—no holding pattern—we’d know—
reinvention—I thought in prying—open the framing—
structure—less the brickwork—than the formal
promise—the code untouched—the louver doors
—shot through with sun—integrity—slipped asleep—
we’d know—the home unhad is nothing—its shape
of sorrow—& our sunk now—I thought—we’d be
a we—but this despair—has gashed the field—of them
& me—I since spent—nights circling back—wet-wheeling—
thinning the veneer—that property—the hunted space
—itself is free—I thought in letting go—I’d know—
detachment’s sight—the porch-ferns’ fade—the holly’s
flames—I let it go—the house’s routes—how we—
once loved each other—for a while when I—belonged—
how can I let—what I habit—the dimming light—
the room wherein—she died I died—& though I go—
its world in keep—my sorrow slung—I thought one—
living structure’d—last—alcove decay—the opened
door & here the—the pond’s—pooling—I come
dipped in—the washtub where—cool hands bathed me—

*The Cloud of Unknowing, Chapter 44: How a soul should prepare itself on its own part to destroy all knowledge and feeling of its own being.