the brief house is tonight
quiet. it’s quiet
most every night. rain
falls, Fall rain, in
marching band intermittence,
staccato and bass
drum rolls on the firmament
of roof. it is lonely, yes,
this flickering flash of flesh
housed in temporary hues,
but it’s also
cozy, to have a roof
with which to be marched upon.
but this isn’t
March, it’s October.
and this isn’t about sound,
though of course
perhaps it is. my hands
prod the letters, form them
into words, but the thoughts aren’t
mine. the fall fruit bursts
in exclamation of red, out there
on the outside tree, bound
by backyard. i bind inside, am
bound by the river-twist of thought
that channels through my canyons.
the sound of echo. though this isn’t
about sound. perhaps
this hollow round resonance is
what i mistakenly feel
as loneliness. my friend,
the one with such beautiful feet, he
two nights ago encouraged me
to continue on my conduit’s path. with
his kind jostling,
telling me to write more
about others. though here i sit
in this humming silence, speaking not
about sound and not about others.
there are two cats, silent, in the house
right now. usually they stay outside.
the chubbier of the two curls on bed’s top.
the other, sleek and timid, furtive and
pale blonde, hides quietly.
does this count
as writing about others?
to comment on cats? i don’t
understand how we even have pets,
other animals we keep
as possession. i don’t
understand that we are
on a planet, spinning
through comets and stars. i am
writing to speak to loneliness; the rain joins me
in my lament. marching again
on the roof, the shell
of this house i vaguely inhabit.
as these thoughts march through my body,
a shell. the word “march”, wrong
again, both in season and in sound. these
thoughts are not surefooted, and i do not write
about sound, and thoughts meander
like river, and rasp like dry
fallen leaves, and mutter like a sleeping
body, piled under the heaven of silence.
this was to be
about loneliness, and i feel
i have not given enough
to it. i abandon
my attempts to steer
these words, and leave
loneliness off wandering alone.
zakschafer.com 