after the flood.

It felt like fire,
and I—ringing like metal,
caving all inside to resonate with
you.

Open the door. Step onto
carpeted boards of an old house,
dusty like another age, and
open the curtains to let in the sun,
cooler sky.

Rest for a while, patchwork quilt.
Sewn by hands you can’t
remember, here under sunlight.
Gentle silence. Hold those days again
a moment; bring them near
among the rustling leaves,
glistening outside like waves.

Noise, magnificent scraping, always.
Burst, collide with tensions. Endless,
true, and glare that sears so close.

Only the softest word, one note is full.
It did remain,
we were standing there.

Face turned high, ocean of ink above and
far, far, bleeding infinity,
boundless space, cold stone
walls torn long ago by
endlessness between.
Even darkness filled,
split with saturation by
this home inside.

Sitting again on a grassy hill
outside in the afternoon;
no one sees, a moment.
Wandered further on. I’ll linger,
run to catch them later.

Looking back on where we’ve come,
your heart is like a furnace
as we walk inside.
You’re brighter than ever
and I am inside.

I’ll stay forever.