10 at night the wind is piercing, relentless the moon shoots through the window like a bow and arrow and shimmers off of the oil-on-canvas painting of a willow hanging by the door you’re throwing a few t-shirts and your favorite pair of ripped levi’s into the coffee-colored backpack i gave you last summer it was your birthday god i don’t want you to leave flip over the record and please stay until it’s finished but you can’t and i know you have so much too much to offer your unmatched compassion the way your eyes glimmer in an instant when a bird first takes flight you have been here through my best and worst have seen me radiate shades of pale blue and for this i am thankful
though i’m neglected from my thoughts left fidgeting through a barbed wire fence realizing the shocks are all i’ve felt in weeks months i must let it be
so i lie back soak in a lukewarm water filled cast iron tub trace the rim of it with a shriveled finger and let it be as i remain static