Scramble with the last of the things, check for errant chargers and turn the oven off (did you turn the oven off?), you live next door to Grand Central now, so the transit time isn't long. You turn off the last light switch, call for the elevator, and make your way down Lexington Avenue, seventeen years you've been making your way along Lexington Avenue, it never ceases to remind itself to you.
The express train waits at the far end of the concourse, you cross the large train station with its histories, with its stories, you rush though you are not in a hurry, upend yourself in a seat on the Hudson side of the car, tell him you made it, tell him you're making it, tell him though the days are short, the life is long and to wait for you in Poughkeepsie.
Everything that has yet to come
will come.
Don't say your goodbyes,
say your I love yous.
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