The Remains

Susie Berg

– after Mark Strand


He empties himself of the dreams of others. He empties the gas tank.
He leaves the car at the shopping mall.
He dreams of farmers at dawn.
They look back. They become pillars of salt.

Goodbye, he says, to the street signs.
Goodbye, he says, to a name he never liked.
They will smell his name when the wind blows.
It will make sense.

The fridge is full in their kitchen,
a room clouded with song.
The notes tell what he was.
There are no photographs.