Numbness stretches over like morning frost dusts the greens of the Northeast.
Day dreams dizzily burst as suds in dingy dishwater left over from the night before.
No one's home, but we're all still here.
Half full boxes saturated with lighter fluid, no flame in sight.
Wobbly coffee tables tipped over in desperation.
No one's home, but we're all still here.
Grease waterfalls from canyon cracks in the ceiling.
No connection, unanswerable, no communication.
No one's home, but we're all still here.
Vines and weeds inhabit the stones of foundation.
Rats drag across the floor boards.
No one's home, but we're all still here.
In the middle of destruction, a beam of light.
In the middle of the war, a tiny lotus blooms.
No one's home, but we're all still here.
