his lowered head
hers was lower, the wind, or even better-- the house
there is a deep sadness beneath the paint, somewhere
he can taste the metallic sting

grips tight the rim of his hat--
a soft cadence to fall upon

rounding the corner of the house
no one's out back. and he says it
aloud, i think to himself?
maybe to everyone, or anything ever--
two words,
a grandiose apology.

and there in the distance,
the holy center and source of the bell's toll
(if you were church
i'd get on my knees)