title from Laura Jensen

I turn the lamp off and see myself

in the glare of the window

that faces into the backyard. It’s

windy and cold, some front

pushing out to elsewhere. While

sleeping I sorted through a friend’s

belongings: Woodford Reserve bottles

with a pour or two left. Photos

I didn’t know existed. A dozen

envelopes addressed to as many

different people. It was as if

he knew he’d die soon, as if it

was the only logical next step,

though I was aware enough

while dreaming to know the dream

was really about me, a midlife

looking back and looking down

some path. Forty used to feel

so far away. There’s life

and the idea of life. The sun breaks

the sky into a spectacular form of blue.