I’m constructing a matchstick house, tricky
work balancing sticks which might take me with
them at a single twitch, when I should be
polishing windows. but I don’t want you
to see me. I put two-way mirrors in
their place; turned the path to ankle-snapping
cobbles, traded my mouth for drapes and stapled
them shut. it’s slapdash but pure-intentioned.
I won’t let it out. if I say it I’ll
wear it. I’ll take it apart and prod at
its insides and put it back together
again. I won’t let it out of my sight.
I’d sooner set my matchstick home alight.
the silence holds all that we need to say.
