I saw Goody Proctor
glazed with rain
water

Were hands soft, a slap were no wrong.
Now I’m a dog on a leash.
My tail wags like a sprung spring.

Spring: Second-borns scrubbing the lamb’s blood off their family door

Zillowing your childhood home is sad but now how you want.

The dump is closed
for high winds

The man’s home made of scarves that just blew and blew

Writes pages and tells
no one about them
not even the pages

Sunlight rains
from the rain

The way the sky drops its last snow
like afterbirth

Live ages
and tell no one about it.
Not age, not God

I felt the sunlight
coming through the window
but it was just

everything catching up with me
I noticed
nothing unusual.

Tell no one.
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