In the electric air, perched on the hard ledge
of the bathtub, I smelled pine needles, burning dust.
Inscrutable as a Sybil, submerged in still water,
your
We didn’t know it was our question to answer. Now it’s the room we sit in, the way we hold onto things, and
It is the hour when the night curdles— milk poured into a glass of merlot. All the beautiful options of two drinks ago have