Upon Considering Leaving Brooklyn

It kept me up, a little, last night, that I failed again to tell you I love you, when of course I know it, I am wearing it all over. Not kept up in a bad way, just the fuzzy glow that comes from under the door as you are falling asleep.

I stop by Sammy's for coffee this morning, I am running late. They are still remodeling, the door is propped open. I tell him I like his new windows.

Repeated today the story of the woman we admitted into the shelter. Straight from the hospital, in the middle of the night, with two children. Pregnant with the third, he had beaten her into contractions.

Last night the turning light caught me in the intersection. Instead of standing dumbly in the painted crosswalk I went down the median, elevated with air shafts from the train. I let my hands wave over the dark traffic as music and cars made streams down Fourth Avenue.

I begin to think I know what I lose when I leave you. I begin to think I know what I gain when I leave you. Then I know, really, of course, I have no way of knowing.