On Leaving

[just mercedes]

We leave one step at a time:
from the table after eating, a failing job, something about 'from' bothers me
certain beliefs, the broken heart of a home 'broken heart' feels a bit tired

the in-and-out of our breath,
one hand against cold glass I like this image

from the black rocks near Calumet,
green frothy water breaking I like the contrast with the glass
over them, and that Sunday afternoon
when the sky seemed to pull apart
like the innards of a cotton pillow

when we pretend is this in the past too?
life is easier than it really is

I felt the end sort of tailed off - I'd like to see some return to the title. Thanks for posting.