227.

The worst thing about being
a haunted house? It's
exhausting. Don't get lost here,
nothing is safe, et cetera.
I want to write a decent poem
and fall asleep
at the bottom of the stairs.
No, I want to live outdoors.
Always almost there.
The things I miss don't taste
like anything.

226.

Which nerve was it
running across your spine
that found me after a decade?
I do not know how to carry
anything beyond
a reasonable shelf life
and here you are again
trying to teach me the vocabulary
of apologies
when I'd thought we left this
with empty pockets.
Should I tell you about the things
I owe other people
or the ones that are owed
to my own stomach, palms,
bed? Yes, you were
one of the good ones.
Tell me that's all you needed
to hear.

225.

Once,
I compared you
to the loch ness monster
and you raised your head
out of the water
so far towards the sky
that we all thought
you would snap your neck
trying to prove us wrong.