That winter
was like one long
night.

I curled
against the wall
beside the bed

and turned
inward.
By then.

there was no baby
to bring home
and we could no longer

live in the place
she was conceived.
The white walls.

The window seat
I lay in
from two to three

o'clock each day
for that sliver
of sun—

by April
we were gone.
It can happen.

When I hear
our neighbor's
footsteps

walking
back and forth
above us

to calm the colic
I remember
the window seat.

It is burned
there
in that slab

of light.
Behind
our walls,

I felt life move.