The worries come on the walk back, melting together like ice in the glass: I'm missing something, & what pieces remain are broken, & that I am never in control of it.
The sidewalk is one shadow on top of another, on top of another, all the way back.
No, you don't see a thing, I'm sealed, a sarcophagus, a remote satellite, the flood is put away as neatly as a magazine on the newstand.
I make another oath, to pry open the tomb, to speak with a mouth like a glen, to accept that I am not my parents nor the drift of their silence.
The sidewalk is one shadow on top of another, on top of another, all the way back.