.
it wasn't good enough.
or maybe it was just forgotten.
the white that folds down.
the envelope. the ceiling.
the wide eyelet curtains.
.
degrees accumulate.
sometimes rescind
like a promise.
sand in the sheets.
.
she lays under the big windows. there are two of them.
two windows in the same wall. a diptych. perpendicular
to the south sky. the light is good. the light falls
down. open mouths. warm as breath. and soft. she lays
on the floor. the curtains do not sway- she trembles,
lights a cigarette, and quietly closes the door.
.
i know sea glass was once nothing more than regular glass.
still, i want to be polished just the same.
.
on the other side of the windows are stars.
blue marks in the sky big as fists.
she stands close to the door.
she listens for feet.
.
we've hated each other for as long as i can remember.
.
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