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He was in trouble. Lying, I guess.
A man who could have been good.
He put the wound out there. In the granite.
For some reason, I locked the door.
It was dark?
It was night.
It’s hard to resist the urge to keep a fire going.
Even when you’re not cold anymore.
Even when you’re burning
up what you might need later.
Did she lock it? or was it locked?
My life has changed since we last spoke.
No resting. No tuning.
But I want to keep the room, and the chair.
We loved blue.
That’s intimacy, isn’t it?
She was always happy.
I’ve been thinking
of Thoreau, and feeling the desire to walk.
To walk for hours a day, like we used to.about the author