We bushel-basketed the stereo, lamps, found everything under the couches damp from Lord-knows-what - mouse droppings in the cupboards. I cut the grass, she boxed rabbit-ears, stacked books in crates. We left the couches, fucked on the floor. And then one moment the house was ours, and then it wasn't ours. It's easy enough to leave a thing: you tell yourself the thing you love is gone: the girl bent over the sink is new, this house is new each now to the next. You let it go, the truck butts out into the dawning world, the boughs waving aren't even farewells, nor tenterhooks.