There were three of us left.
The fourth was closing at work.
The other chose a
full night’s rest
For the first time
In a long while.

We were in town for once.
Because there was something
About the closeness
Of old Woodland streets.
At least, there was for me.

And that’s where we stopped.
The middle of the street.
We rolled down the windows
But stayed in our seats.
We were the audience
Not the people asleep.
And said, on the count of three:

1
2
3

We yelled
Only one breath
But it was too much
And we were left empty,
hiding in the isolation
We thought we were
escaping.

I thought, one last cry of desperation.
But if I had known
it would be one
of separation,
I would have kept going,
Though nothing would change.

This had been the work
of a long time.
It was only
the final
unwinding.