moving through rooms
cooking squash, feeling heavy
stucco lit against a storm grey sky
the air smells like water hitting dust
like thirst and quenching all at once
like not enough
she asks you what, you stare down
at your hands against your thighs
everything is folded, still
sheets and towels in cupboards, holding
space and waiting
walking soft exhausted tread, the
beige carpet is resigned
murmurs, tries to sympathize
press a palm to glass and feel
the icy air outside, winter now
the heat leaks from your fingertips
out out to meet the dark, the flickering
city lights crisply kissing the vast sky
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