The place hasn’t changed. Things are in their place.
Things remain exactly what they were: just things.
Home comforts are what we expect of home.
even when spread on pavements. Our keel is more or less even.
Our clothes are comfortable simply because they’re our clothes.
at the front. We try to preserve a united front.
Here is where we are: our place is always here.
The softness of the place, the pressing into grass.
The warmth when it arrives as a kind of grace.
that gentles and does not precipitate ruin.
of dinner and bed, the night fumbling for pills.
a woman with a switchblade. We preserve our kind.
Our forces remain alert and disciplined.
We will creep a little closer to the ground.
with less resolution. Things will be defined.
Life will be returned exactly as found.
and break still more. The broken do not fly.
The year begins in pieces on the floor.
in the soil that is our common soil.
houses fall with them, then there are no houses.