rehab brendan regan That day I picked you up from rehab, when angels 'laxed their grip and hovered a few feet behind as you walked to the gate, wet       saffron leaves lapsed 'cross the rusted sidewalk in lines of blustery wind, Your pale cheeks, devoid for months of self- love, your eyes a little more traveled and stained by a thousand hours of smoke-filled folding- chair, styrofoam, feet-shuffling silence, I swore I'd give up the scene like the small sacrifice it was, and make soup for you more often, stay in Sunday afternoons and write while you made necklaces and the       rain slowly cleansed stains of an old wreck from the driveway.