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Bags filled and resting in the hall.
Key abandoned on the kitchen table.
Door standing wide
inviting vacuity to witness the zephyr of our hostility.

The shadow of a figure
bent with the weight of desertion
stalks in the corner awaiting the passing of emotion.
It has to be over soon;
This too shall pass.

A small boy cowers unnoticed. 
His future imminent dissolution all but certain.
And the frogs fell from the sky.