in your last week. The sky's a smoky grey,
rain's pearl. Leaves crackle. You don't want to stay,
or split. Hot summer felt like the disdain
of the whole city, now it lets you part
as if reluctant, tugs with autumn strings
that fall fade echo. You have packed your things
in boxes. It is clear that from the start
it did not work between you. There's a train
clattering beneath you. You won't feel content
back home. You gave your heart, paid it as rent
deposit you will not get back again.
Yet worthy of the city you will try
leave it with love, spit in its heartless eye.