silent house

trying to recapture the

wet mark/ the

red flowers/

the thread

that still loves,

wrapped around the bedside

in a complicated

gold

the metallic temperature of

street lamps

catching

breath

outside

against the black sky

the lit window

dragging its pavement square

like a clenched fist

for weeks,

for months.

a taste of blood / a piece of paper

continual gravel

results in dirty,

broken

feet.