lost.

the moon is staring at me
through the window
these dry walls and floor
have become my skin and bones
while I pray tenderness
can save me

we breathed a quiet life
into each empty carcass
while blind, blackened moments
hung us to die
with the skeletons in your closet

now it's 2:47 a.m. with howling wind
and you have abandoned

the white house on the hill

my art on the front lawn

the dead man at the side of the road

I am just the boat in your dream
and there is no saving you.


© 4.13.11 heather brager