suitcases, continued

3.
You will make everything fit
into a finite space--the bails of hay
a container for grief--

He stacks, you sweep--
There is no sweeping, not tonight.

This--is--called----
weeping
where he lay sleeping
or is it-----
the falls, the canyon, your journey

Stack and fill and stack
the walls emerge in her vision--
you look away--find the bags--
move to the next new moment.