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I have three stone peaches
the color of pink pearls
in the light of a July morning.

Each peach the weight
of a kitten. The feeling
of a pill's rising makes me turn

to the window. I hold
the stones. The sky is striped
in bands of blue, orange cream.

When did evening arrive?
I had gone to the beach?
And when I stepped inside

there was a large insect
moving across the floor.
Dark, dull blade of shadow.

I couldn't spare it. I haven't
written a word for months.
Not one. Fruit on her

kitchen counter? There is none.
Not even rotting. No peaches,
no stone. Neighbors took the cats.

The rooms won't stay emptied
but I won't know how.
How long. How many

pairs of shoes I counted
cleaning out the closets
I will soon have forgotten.