It was always imminent.

There are no mountains here.

Except I build them myself and drive them
down from the sky. Everything has turned

in the time it's taken to return and hat weather
has begun. I have unpacked, it was

the first thing I did without you. I have washed
everything I own, removed the dust of my absence,

cleared my inbox. And so the lists
begin: to do, urgent, remember. I have torn up

any hope I had about forgetting. I forgot – I
always do – and yet survived, only pennies poorer.