That fine American living room
That fine American house

Sparrow’s wings beating against red walls

Portrait of a young girl
hair spilling in clean ringlets
over the back of a crystal beaded gown

From the top of the stairs
I count out too many windows
to undress our patience

Skylight above owes me a glimpse

though death has become a cheapened
thing perhaps with the way we
sanction off parts of ourselves

just to lament family portraits
tucked away in dresser drawers

We make our way into the library
take pleasure in tearing the pages
from a leather bound book

I catch you lingering

You’ve always been
a step ahead of me

Never reading too much into the silence
Never making a habit of indecision