I would go empty
into my father’s house

make my house empty
of all paraphanalia

clear books from the shelves
in the top-most room
where we ate the apple
core and all

I had a photograph on the wall
composed of sunlight
re-arranged

now there is nothing there anymore
but dust and cobwebs
all has changed

if I still drank
I’d drink your health
who said this world we make ourselves

then shamble up
to an unmade bed

empty