John Kay


We visited the life you fled

for a bed on a Houston cancer


ward. Utter strangers, we slept

in your sheets, used your pillows,


drank coffee from your cups,

examined your college photos,


your choices of art, the books

on heaven. In a week, we were


floating in your skin, carrying

your keys. In the beginning,


we tried to leave everything as

it was—then it didn't matter.