The quiet rooms are all spread out
across this house that I am tied to
like the sculptures on the fronts
of ancient ships.
This day without another way of walking
to see something else besides the
same four people I can speak to
if I have to, but I am boring them
with nothing but myself.
Wire fences are tangled with the growing
grass that creeps its way between
the frequent gaps, while all the livestock’s
gathered up in stacks, because there’s something
shredding all the herds for miles.
Sometimes a reason is just something
you can’t ask for like the knife wounds
on her leg when she was dead
but somehow still awake
to rake the blade across it.
She sticks her head under the faucet
and drinks the water from the well
almost as deep as Hell but always
so much clearer.
Just to be near her is a reckoning
and it washes over everything
like how these new days cover up the distant past.
A list of promises that never lasted
long enough to smelt the melted metal
into something we could recognize.
Though still, the orange mix can always
twist into our eyes and melt away
the words we couldn’t say
as just another way to keep
the careful silent.
Just one last kiss in all that mist
could forge us something violent
nothing could contain.
Until our skulls just let off steam
in the remaining rain,
and nothing is the same.

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