cold wind outside a dark room
and she says this isn’t working
the first week of may
the smell of witches burning
every wall holding up another one
and the way houses grow from
this simple idea
the way windows are broken
or gods diminished
the ones who insist that belief
is not an option but
a necessity
that a home is more than
shelter from the rain
and what she says is
i’m not happy
and what it is is an accusation
what she says is
i love you
but i don’t know why
this admission too much
like the
sound of breaking bones
