this home won’t stand without the shadows in the basement
they rise tonight
and his wife feasted and slept
curled up on her side of the bed, he pictured her
then, while contemplating how to discard the evidence
he writes her name on the snow
and he is alive for a little longer

and for his daughter too – a name
tucked into his pocket, free of his prior charges
and still warm

the house is now lit and will rest until the stars fade
and she will wait for him
the man entering the house
long erased
and hushed away

and alone, i rediscover my old habit of making out stars from the trenches
and finding the road of your childhood home changed
sky to sky
and you are not    the first snow
but you will witness the snow fight
the boys spoke no other language than their own
they threw, and fell, and built larger shadows of three
inseparable ever since
laughter disappearing into walls
i rediscover city lights flickering off
closing shop, on the bed singing into a screen
‘goodbye’
‘you will see me later’

he thinks of a conversation
and just someone to sing to
so she settles with the most wakeful few seconds in the dark
something she needs to take from him
and he will exchange for the better, something like
a confession that collapse all thunder to the rain within her
like a faint song from a closing theatre
a moment from an empty, sunlit classroom
a graceless parting, a connection taken for granted
a chronicle from a man passing like the guises of autumn
to be passed around without the weight of one another
the goodbyes without the afterthought