Here, gathered in the final days,
four of us at the dining room table,
you at your desk, the workload
in three piles, two parking lots,
inside short commute
between first and second shift.
The slow and watery dusk,
rust and blue, fill in the stretch of time.
We wait, mark the days with laughter
and tears and long pause. Listen for the phone
to ring, for foot and air clearing the front door.