Empty nester run-up

You haven’t left the house yet. But everything

suddenly falls into a chill headlong -

a choked gasp like my room itself were being

sucked dry of all the room you’d brought along.

No space, no space, none to breathe or to sing,

even the urban birds lose their tortured songs;

the universe feels like it’s lost its footing -

the sky and earth are both awry, hanging wrong.

You’re not going away just yet, you’re here,

a foot sometimes must swing out - that’s enough

to deform rooms to ooze, undo the year.

All birds’ eyes are wounds, all the stars are fears;

and all the words I can speak, or think of,

keen at the edge of grief, though they start with love.