NOTHING IS LOST THAT’S FOUND:

Last night, everyone in bed, sitting quiet in a back room,
lights out, alone, listening to the house settle on it’s bones.
Eyes closed, breathing, fall-out wreckage strewn up the road,
a debris of shattered glass words, regrets, but all of it
‘outside’, nothing in here. The house tic,tic,ticked, the pile
on the carpet exhaled, cushions relaxed as I let go, floating
on whispers. Out in the garden you’d left a candle burning,
something to light the way for the lost & abandoned, flame
dancing in a glass, skeleton wind, cold to razor cut you.
Spoke your name at your bedroom door, but you were sleeping.
Walked around the house with no direction, punch drunk,
following a beacon, an almost indiscernible sound calling me
away from the rocks, into open waters.

(K)