"Sleeping on Doors."
If we could only see further, we could look through
to the other side.
Such impossibilities, the death of a sister in August
leave us frozen in a kingdom of tongues
without mouths without even silence to contain our doubts.
When we sigh, we encounter her breathing.
To each ghost we assign lamentations like zeros,
like seeds.
We would people whole accessible universes to our need.
Entrances, exits.
As if we could accept lost forever.
Tonight is the first closed door, the stone,
and we lie down on it.
Sleep on the door, on the door.
Sleep on the door.
A way of seeing past the darkness
as though we could come and go as we please.