I’m coming home now, chest heavy, like weight, like iron, like gravity,
like heavier than gravity.
The other parts, light and exterior, slip away, rolling down my arms, of
my fingertips. They catch moonlight in glimpses, sweat and flesh and
hair, like diamonds, as they fall.
Houses pass, observers, dark windows tower, like gods, like rock, stoic
and silent and empty.
Stars shine, scattered, faltering transmissions, wondering who we were
before this began.
Wondering if you left a light on for me.
I arrive, at the end of night, and the windows are dark, no light, like
emptiness, and I enter, so careful, as if not to wake you.
The white walls glow blue with dawn. The house is cold and solid and
still, like a tomb, like no one lived there at all.
