The smell goes first.
The smell that closed rooms have
when women are about.

No coffee smell,
no sweet stale smell of bath,
no hair smell on the pillow,
no smell of beds too long unchanged.

I kept the window closed all day
trying to retain what little of you there was left.

And now the darkness like firecrackers ringing in my
    ears,
trying to sleep in the same unchanged bed
calling back old images
to make the evening come out right.