O bent-down and broken branch,
My love ran into the darkest wood,
Cute as a claw on a conman’s charm
Bracelet he’s pushing around.
In back of the Praise the Lord
Apartments, neo-gothic style with pilgrim
Parking, I called out after her, I heart you.
Only the crows answered.
This place is condemned. Cracks
In the core of the boiler, the angry façade
Telling me my number’s up in the elevator,
I deadbolt to my heart’s content.
View from the window, night devoid of shape
And sound, the smoke from chimney
Pots, the trunks of trees marked for surgery.
Maybe a child will count rings on your stumps?
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