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by Barrett Warner

    I keep Sara's last drawing,
    a floorplan of her new apartment,
    a lot of inky boxes.
    She tells me to stand back from it
    and I will understand.

    Later, I follow the movers
    up the turnpike.
    Sara keeps looking over her shoulder
    while she drives.
    This wasn't in the floor plan.
    She pulls over in Jersey,
    wants to talk but I don't stop.
    I got my eye on the movers,
    on every chair,
    on every piece of crystal
    dieseling out of my life
    on 18 wheels.

    Hours pass like countdowns.
    At the Carlysle loading dock
    in New York City
    Sara says "Don't you get it?"

    "Now I know" I tell her,
    "Why Vincent gave up his ear."


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