The car was packed, the boxes taped and labeled,
and a babysitter played go fish on the porch
with the son and toddler daughter.
The windshield gleamed. A chip, thumbnail-wide,
explained the clouds’ share of weakness.
I had an image to protect—
my face hovering, my friend’s near it,
frown spidering glimpse, how I’d remember this,
and the rest. That’s all there usually is, these days,
to loss—no violence. We must’ve dared it
once too …