WEBVTT

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The next poem is called My House

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The east walls are
white and ice cube.

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Something inside melting it.

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The full moon maybe drifting
South over the air base.

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I can feel it on my skin.

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All around me the
neighbors lights are out.

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There in the white spaces
between the salt cedars,

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to see yourself, the wind
and the hair like clusters,

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needles, like lungs
opening and closing.

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This door, I have to lean
all my weight against it.

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If I really wanted
to, nights like this I

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could walk out, leaving my
body behind like a birdhouse

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the rains of rotted until
it has fallen in on itself.

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The wood around the nails rusty.

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A few sunflower seeds
in case somebody's

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hungry in the morning.

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