in amber

walls of rooms filled w/ dust,

on floors, on hands and knees and blinded
 

sing w/ your heart
 

grow scars
 

this is the place, you see, this house

where the dying man lives, and
there is nothing any of us can do
 

no blood on the carpet, but a sense
that it could happen at any time

a window
 

a back yard filled w/ fireflies and twilight
 

stand there, barefoot, wide-eyed, emotions

carved from dark, sticky wood

speak names softly
 

breathe in the warmth of

overwhelming joy
 

be as still as you can

until all laughter has stopped