Rearrange This

No precious space, no
books framed to hang
on walls she would only want
to move at the moment
of willingness. That dandelion

tea she spilled on
printouts of online
articles about his song
without dance—not necessary.
An accident she could explain

away with a pilot light
that flickers out—after,
always after the water
boils. The dust of her breathing
skin gets in a little

each night
while she sleeps without fear.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s