Collapsing by the blue wall where the flies come to die
Where the sun is just hot enough to give you a headache
Flicking embers off, reducing themselves to ashes
Half a cigarette and I’m off
Drag myself up with tired, cracking hands
Push myself on with a bad ankle, old eyes
So many footprints in this dirt, lost its identity
Just a placeholder for a thousand impressions
Grass pushes itself up between the door frame
Green threads in her little blue room
Listening for the wind chimes in their silence
Listening for your footsteps, barefoot in the
bamboo