Standing at the car
under a fine drizzle
we traded children's things
back and forth.
Things momentarily housed, unhoused,
then rehoused again.  
A moment, only temporary, of stability.
Some of those last minutes,
some last lifetimes,
some last last fifteen years.

Back in the house,
I was momentarily homesick
for a place that no longer exists
except in photographs
and the living, breathing
bodies of our children
now sleeping in their beds.