femme inspiratrice
she waited under the stairs in the basement where I learned to feel and see without the advantages of light
she held me tightly to the ground and I complied with the conspicuous duties she created for me
I drifted to her daily, down the damp steps and found a love in her remorse that I could not find in myself
there she lay in the old air, suspended in the dark webs under the stairs whispering to me when I slept, and pleasing me
the inevitable
a man runs in the rain toward this small house
the window clouds up from his breath even though he is a mile away
his silhouette begins to blot out the moon, beads of water race down the glass
he will exact something from me, I can tell as he slips down the hill, muscles tensed