The garage door crinkles just a little once the wind blows correct. The lights flicker, strung along the ceiling above smoke and dirty cement. Cracks and dust, the cacophony of ash that we must make each stride. The fire always slung in some direction, abiding by some axis, the wheels all spinning true. Burn in or out, burn up or down. It is the only clock tic I can tell the truth. The world is only bend and burn.
I would whisper it, if I could whisper it to you. Your hair held back, your neck all strength and need. The words heavy breath coiling against your lips. These sayings all paths tracked back upon you. Passing these signposts and thresholds again and again. This way you always haunt my hopes. The way all these words are wasted in your absence.
I watch the skies as they tilt and shine, leaning with the season, steaming through pale skin. I watch the sun burst and break each day. The birds on the line, the rats on the rooftops, the cats and kids sharing up the gutters. The smell of dog and the weight of laundry. A life defined by longing and ache. The sky so distant, the earth so hungry and near.