think of the earth after the fall of man
or some other cliché about desolate landscapes
stark and clean and sad and alone
piles waist deep
standing in your driveway
the rubber in my chucks is frozen
and we can’t figure out how your broken-down truck is what’s blocking me in
it’s 3:42AM
(I made that time up)
the one light is from your neighbor’s porch
only on the way down
can we see how the ice expands the cracks in the pavement
the sky is falling
but not really
because up there it is empty, unlit closet, soul-crushing, run for the lightswitch black
and down here it is packed full, bare lightbulb, fresh coat of paint white
and it fills me up the way the ocean or the sun does
for people who don’t spend half their years covered in ice