soon after the dying Christmas tree
started scattering its needless
needles throughout
the house,
life
stopped -
the nagging dampness
of winter dewing the red bricks
until flakes of paint drifted onto the
floor like snow. Here, among the spider's
threads, where invisible worlds claw
at our heels, some newish sickness
was brewed into being. And we
didn't notice. Our muted
festivals weren't
enough to
mark
the subtle
changes of the
seasons outside, so
every day drifted into the
next one, like waves tumbling
onto distant sandy summer shores