between roof stacks     falling –

a smooth stone into

pondwater                   it will be

months before we see              what the ripples

mean    by then my mouth will have been       closed

for so long you won’t even see            me

anymore           & the august heat

will have sucked the air       from our house    

i will hear the echoes     of your anger

trickling backwards      like rewinding

an old video tape      do you remember     when we were

young  they would get stuck      & we would unravel

the black ribbons with pencils?            trying

even then         desperately       to make things work