That house, worn down by sun and salt rain, was doomed. In a few years,
it would be a hollow replacement, gone from our stale grown-up brains.
But tonight candles would burn bright in our heads and
light would paint across the beautiful walls peeling with old memories:
hiding places for little children in big bodies.
There was no reason to be loud, no more void to fill,
we just stood and looked at our reflections in the window:
They were far, far brighter than we were.
ghosts of peo / ple hiding in this house / they grew up in and left / hiding under tables in clo / sets long thin men pale pe / ople dark people all hidden / separately in the same room / waiting for the seeker to finis / h counting endlessly endl
He can see kids glowing in the kitchen,
Hands sticky with sweet gossip,
Bright, beautiful little selves smudged by the window that he,
A cracked old statue has broken his hands and fingers by banging on,
Do you feel your head unspooling into the universe?
The strings are fraying at the edges,
irreparably stained with the stardust at the ends
Of the many worlds you stretch across.
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