I heard you at my window howling from inside the distance of the voices, calling for any sign of the missing, turning up to whisper close & wander with the zephyrs, repeating what had been recited in the mirror, reminding you again all you haven’t learned from the secrets that you know just dying to be kept up until you’re feeling well enough with what can’t be fixed, but waits to see who won’t be saved by recovery when the pieces fit, now, bound to find another final place, somewhere behind lying to remember none of it is true. See, once the word gets out there’s nothing you can do but close your eyes & follow where they go, still, running back to tell off their lonesome broken spell, high on the heat’s last light believed to be a ricochet of recovery. Reasons cry for what they’ve done, crawling back so late, their time has come.
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