the way a shoe once was a calf,
            a daughter now dry
                        a figless fig

a backyard ball now mossy
            is some residue of red
                        I too reside like

a lozenge
            on the tongue
                        or up the bum

rags reeking
            of mildew await their taste
                        of vinegar

memory of milk
            left in the hooks
                        on a cat’s tongue

pay attention
            I have been here
                        look

the cabinet doors
            have opened
                        with volition

the chairs have moved,
            made room for the broom
                        collecting crumbs

dishes, once Sisyphean
            have disappeared
                        like green from autumn

here is some purgatory
            kitchen
                        and not kitchen

dresses congregate
            in drawers, comparing
                        melon stains

language of sustenance
            of subtraction
                        so

if your loved objects
            are abducted
                        if the lights flicker

if you hear a clatter
            unsourced, some glass
                        crashes and breaks

feel some footstep
            not your own,
                        some turbulence of the air

some sibilant wind, know
            revenge
                        is its own discipline

a hoarded patience
            bright as a scoured pot
                        hovering in the air