BOOM

A barren home,

but not of things,

where silence wanders

curiously

down the empty halls.

"Who's there?"

She stands to peek

through door ajar

at the dust ::BOOM::

on the floor. ::BOOM::

Nothing's stirred

and all's in place

and all is still

but subject’s face:

fieldstone hues

and wrinkles too.

A desol't eve

in fickle blue,

she’s marching dusk

with throated heart.

Purpled cirri

and pinholes white

high above her

stalwart ceiling.

Shunted thought.

Listless thunder.

Turn on heel

to pinioned sleep;

a reeling sanct,

an effete lover.

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