soaked,
you’re standing on My doorstep,
veins gone numb,
soul dripping.
(don’t awake my misery,
I bellow)
mouth gone mute,
eyes scream.
my arms petrified
my arms, vast fields
for your barren
harvests.
– you were first to leave,
I hear myself saying.
(a train shrilled in the morning,
a letter delivered in year’s time:
betroth to someone else)
standing petrified
on the moon’s rim,
each at their own side
of the doorstep.
– my father’s house is in shambles.
I heard your back saying.
June, 2012
Vezilka 