Living in the backdrop
The second summer of being alone
The second summer since you left our home
And the roofs on fire
burning our
foundations
forgotten
through every window I see rain
my eyes hazy white washnoise
I remember the last time this tale was told
The kitchen sink had a bathtub gravestone
Those morals of dark red hands
separately scrubbed clean
and burnt back to bone.
we pray for all shiny and light
through this white washnoise
