There is no bark to the bite of
The desolate, coming home to pockets of solitude
With an evening companion of the unattended.

The ghosts of women’s voices murmur
In the creases of my house.

The tapestry remains silent, the oven
Empty, the heart beats the wings
Of freedom and ecstasy is woven into
The still night air.

The house sends them away
With my approval.
The house sends them away
With my approval.

Loyalty lies in the garments
Of dismissal

____