Connecticut

The walls of this room are bare.
I sit, and cannot make a rhyme.
I, gut-punched, tear-stained, longing,
not quite belonging, sit and stare, alone,
among the furniture, the walls I've known,
a lobotomy patient, stranger in my own home.
A part of me has gone away,
and I don't feel so much as yearn.

In Terminal 3 I knew nothing,
looking into the heart of light, the silence.
Your eyes, not emerald globes, but simply eyes
I looked into, then looked away, then wept
tears of salt, not rain, but suffering.
Some parting sorrows are sour, not sweet,
and this love burns that before swept me off my feet.

I am hopeless, here, and undone, but
my heart is in a place I've never known, Connecticut.