There’s a mark on the floor Where the cabinet stood. Not dramatic. Just four pale corners The dust never reached. They moved everything else Before I came back for the case. The room looked larger. That seemed unfair. You can clear the cables. You can repaint the wall. Something still keeps The size of what was there. I saw them once from the side of the stage. Didn’t stay long. They were good. Not “good considering.” Not “good without me.” Good. The lights came down Where they always did. The crowd leaned forward. For a second I knew exactly what came next. Then I didn’t. You can change the arrangement. You can lower my part. Something still bends Around the shape it learned. I used to think leaving meant removal. Like pulling one cable And watching the light go out. It wasn’t like that. The songs kept moving. The people kept eating after the show. Someone packed the van. Someone forgot a coat. Life was insultingly capable. So was I. I don’t need the old position back. I wouldn’t know what to do with it. But sometimes When the guitars open up, I hear the space Where I used to make them worse. That was mine. I was never the centre. I was pressed at the edge. The note under the note. The bad wire in the wall. I was the part they worked around Until working around it Became the song. So let it stand. Let the room remember badly. Let the floor keep four pale corners. I don’t need my name above the door. I know the weight I had. You can move the fire. You can carry it on. The place where it burned Does not become nothing. That it? Yeah. Leave it.
