no stranger than that
backward in the cracks of time
"reinforce," you say, like
noise from all the years before—
indecipherable
out the window
there's some vague bird, circling
now, you notice
how quickly the house could burn (down)
how the dishes collect
how
the brakes could go (any minute)
and all things move inward,
like factions—
like the panging rain on loads of cars
you, upstairs
crafting your papers:
something remains,
down here, remains,
jobless in worry and footsteps so heavily
over floorboards
how the dog, bedside, sleeps so easily;
it is dark in this bald room of windows
something cold, inking—
drafts its edging way in
the distant pasts before us
removed from the remedy of memory
it is only here, that we practice the unending script of forgetting.