A Tight Stanza and the rest
She is the fire in firewood,
The footprint of a party
Stumbling through the snow.
Shes wet sand, the sun abaft the clouds
and a wick; an unstruck match
that smells of smoke.
SPOILERS! (Click to view)The humming of a speaker before the song
fills the hum conferred by the song
before the song that might play next;
each song sung in context to the last.
She misses me and I miss her,
connections are extracurricular.
Her guitar lies
On the floor next to a dusty vacuum.
She sings, I think
Her guitar tells the stories.
Her books lie
One on one atop another stacked in
A glyph upon the bedroom floor,
A collection built to reflect who she is or
Who shed like to be:
A reader of books
Noticed unnoticed reading her books.
She threw away most of her books
When it ended with him.
Design motif of choice,
Books and bookshelves filled the apartment
Declaring their sublime gifts.
She piled them
One on one atop another buried in
Boxes; some regimented in towers,
Others spiraling over the rim
So that he could read the titles.
