Lakewood

Sometimes I walk down our old street
To peak into our last apartment
Stand on my tip toes
Gaze into the bay in the front.
I can make out some of the tenants’ things
dishes and knick knacks in the built in
A stick lamp
A poster
Cold lighting

I wonder
Did our sadness fill the space?
Did it slick the walls with its mucilage
Skulk down the pipes

Did it contaminate the new inhabitants?
Does it slick all the surfaces
Laminate the windows
And cling to new bodies that arrive

Can they feel it?
The viscous tension of the end
The potency
like magnets
Pushed at their opposite poles

Will it force them out?
Does sorrow make abandoned buildings?