my house is vast and filled with prayers i’ve made room for you atop the stairs the shelves are filled with things you need the light’s left on so you can see. if i am asleep and you need to talk or you stumble in and can barely walk or you reach the door with little left from life and loss and pain and theft; others are here with hands to hold offering warmth to shake off cold, suspecting that you might need to be told- you belong.
we fell into unwilling hibernation that early spring. trees hadn't yet bud their impertinent blooms into the brooding ides of march. life, oblivious, hadn't yet paid its room and board for an early november check-in. sealed in and slumbering, breathing was made unprecious, mattering dematerialized us, numbness overwhelmed our stored selves. thoughtless meltwater loosened, dissolved, and removed the natural paths between us. and staying in the back of our caves, surrounded by scant reserves, we never considered what wintering through another season's cycle might mean.
the doors stand neatly nesting resting sleeping keeping time with echoes of the last bell. the halls to walls and ceilings look down on rarely scuffed floors as well. flow has slowed and the body bends low and sleeps restlessly- an empty shell.