Every interior
filled with the sound of air
flying into walls.
Every interior
filled with the sound of air
flying into walls.
Bottle on its side—
what storm made it sacrifice
what it held so long?
A bitter light twists
through the trees and throws shadows
around these faces.
Broken promises
litter the floor and impede
every next step.
I’ve seen blue emerge
from black and known—colors hide
behind everything.
Hearing voices
I haven’t for years—tremors
rattling the windows.
I imagine lines
written by mastheads dancing
on the windy lake.
What I need moves—as if
a giant nightly snatches
the house and shakes it.
Another grumbling
rain—surly and seething and
ready to weep.
Books remain unread
and stacked beside me—a wall
so hard to see past.