These Days / We Float

The doorbell rang itself
again and my eyes
clamoured for sleep.
These days I’m not
well enough qualified
for this bullshit.
She said sorry again and again
just clawing at her cheeks,
wet with sorrow. I’m a
broken man too, I said
not a little annoyed
at her true north
self deprecation.

I’ve a gavel that sits
by my bed in cold wood
and the thunder it makes is

The clock ticked passed midnight
between she and thee; ghosts
waving as they parted, unsmiling.
In reverence, I bowed, at their
stubborn mastery.
Though both were blind to
their glorious love.

To the open, greying sky we all
shit-scared of the brightness of dawn.