this morning
as i collect the thoughts
we scattered late last night,
i wonder, or perhaps i start to doubt:
why do we always fight?
when did our light—
go out.

the house sits quiet as you sleep,
these days, we're silent even when we shout,
but we had times
of such uncommon clarity—

i weep,
upward following the sweep
of steam rising from my cup of tea,
our love dispersing