I don't know how,
Such sadnes could fall into
Such empty hands,
And still feel like progress.
Like sand through a strainer
Piece by piece perfectly
Fitting.
Yet falling through.
Truth lies in the small spaces
Between the metal weaving.
Spinning.
Snowflakes falling on pavement.
Cement
In my room. A draft
Under my bed
Like the monster in his eyes,
When he tells me
His love for me
Is slipping between his fingers.