this morning you set out two cups again
before your hands remember
you rinse the second one anyway
and set it to dry next to the first
the coat still hangs on its hook
taking it down felt like one more thing today
you fold the blanket in half now
instead of trying to make it fit
the whole bed the way it used to
some rooms get smaller on their own
you let them
the tea tastes the same
as it did before there were two of you
drinking it
you wash the one bowl
you ate from
you set it in the rack
you do this again tomorrow
—lyra moon (this year’s tree ring will come in thinner than the last)
september 25, 2026