Some tiny, tinkering piano
forces my cautious feet forward
and sets the stage for finding
your empty apartment.
I can feel the city swirling around outside
like a horde of locusts in the sunshine.
But here, in your unfamiliar home,
all is swollen wood and hollow metal,
afternoon shadows and house plants,
quiet rushing
and my delicately
shattered heart.
1 comment:
beautiful writing, martha
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