#1
In the hot room surrounded by fans, touching
my dirty fingertips, sweating inside my shirt.
The house is a slow oven. I go shopping in my own past--
those well-worn handles, broken jars, alone with you.
Can you let me know, the sound that travels back.
And then I was in the hallway with the big empty cart,
its hollow boom that echoed with each roll. A perfect mess,
Why wouldn't you just say hunger? Why wouldn't you?

#2
I take the long way there. It's been a year and I've got
time in a pocket, fingerprint bruises,
deep breaths that make clouds. The running stops.
The rush of days don't care about your heart.
Where were we, with the sky ripening
at sunset, with the branches forming cages overhead?
Where were your words? Now, I am: soundless, happy,
another pin on the trestle, spoke on the wheel.