There is a space inside me dedicated to your needs.
I am thick, like the grass above a grave. There is nothing
glamorous about recollection. This morning, a sparrow
visited our feeder. Its small ability, the way it leaned
in. We were all delicate once. I blame you for the chair
stranded in my mouth, for how I strain to hear
the bird’s gentle song. We rested but did not sleep,
arranged next to each other like trees. It turns out
I don’t know you very well. I see your quiet pleasure,
the way your slumber has nothing to do with me.
Let’s take a walk tomorrow, get lost in mutual
destruction. The track can contain our sorrow
and our desire, but not much else.
Photo by krwphotographic