i imagine the air in there
is dense as sand and stale
from the lack of warm flesh.
it hangs there, lonely as i am, waiting
i look in. it's all i can do.
the porch creeks below
my swaying body.
the empty house has old soundwaves,
ones that had breath.
they slowly move inside my ribcage.
bounce back and forth until they
fall with dull thuds and extinguish.
the ache to go inside
is so palpable
it constricts my throat
it swells my tongue.
it is now time to
block it out
to move from the door.
