she’s saying

I wish there could be a metaphorical

investigative committee

and I’m saying

therapy or a priest?

and, behind us,

the excellence of bright children

and, on our walk home,

the left glove

and I’m saying

I’m fueled by kissing and crimes

against the environment

and she’s saying

the cat shaped depression in this cushion

the necessity of the cat

and I’m saying

I’ve never met a silk sheet I didn’t want to ruin

and, at home,

the fingerprints disappearing

from your grandfather’s coat

the way we carve people out like water through a rock face

the way we read it on their faces

like laundry lines

like clouds