Unspalsh

Next Time

a non linear recounting

In the sky outside a house clouds 
swirl intricate and indefinite through 
loops long ingrained.

The house is still when like each
time before this one I will finish
the third chapter of a book I have 
never read as he smiles rising from 
the couch that if could talk would 
shout for days. Marking again the 
weathered page I place it into a 
drawer rotten and damp from the 
grit of too many rancid secrets.

And in the sky outside a house clouds 
swirl intricate and indefinite through 
loops long ingrained.

Looking at his watch then the window
he who is I tells a boy who seems faded 
into an afternoon light something he thinks
he may have heard more than once before.

No more is spoken.

Each of us knows when our time is up.

He bolts the door from the inside as I 
crawl through a window leaving the 
place he’s never been into the garden 
from which a boy will return.

And in the sky outside a house clouds 
swirl intricate and indefinite through 
loops long ingrained.