strands of home

1. roxie
the dog who has hair not fur
whining outside the bedroom door
while a house
rises into wake
in a single wave

2. eggs
frying on stovetop
while water
rolls
into steam collecting
on windows

3. james and i gather
over burritos as big as our faces
these burritos
never fail
at falling apart

4. ace of base
and exhaust
spilling out car shop
at 15th and alberta
metal door
rolled up to the roof

5. the trainwhistles
the wrapping of fabric layers
the coolwet rainforest air
on the other side of the door
the running into at the co-op
with some of whom
never even knew i left
strands of home
braiding themselves
into knots

6. needles
tucked under skinsurface
for lungs
liver
kidneys
heart

7. now
that i have seen
the photo of your desk
(half workspace, half altar including typewriter)
in your room on the ranch
in colorado
i understand

8. there was also a bed
from which you could peer over the loft edge
to spy the ponies in training
below

9. and if that wasn’t enough
there was the other view
from bed
through hayloft doors
flung wide open

10. typing
quiet as i can
to the sound of your
ribcage risefall
sleepbreath

11. there is a place
between your bedroom and the bathroom
where the floor
sounds like rusty hinges
giving way
bare feet navigating
the intersection
of two planes