Icicle in pieces on the back step
I picked it up and brought it in,
Leading it into its own abstraction
As the morning wore on.
House hung heavy with anticipated decline
The muted wait,
Drawn in our imagining for months and years
Which was then close
And later happened.
Unseen dark filtered in, settling.
Rooms and body static, jolting with denser air
Every measure of time acute;
Wade through each beat
To drag the back of your head
To keep up with the front
To rattle at speed and sometimes slower
A magnet interchangeably.
‘Are we speaking in opposites?
I get confused.’
Their voices mingle with my thoughts
And carry their weight
On light words.
The bridge of my nose aches
And nostrils feel smaller
Like pinpricks to carry the air
In and out.
My icicle is shrinking in a puddle
I am keeping it with me.
I am writing on mounds and it is all connected.