Tenancy by the Entirety

The joining that bears but one divorce,
the adumbration of our last address,
the occupation where already
asunder was, the yoke, mortality
observed, a rolled-up rug. We loved
in the interstices of states,
electricity, pressed clothes, and ice,
each day a room someone just left.
As hours grew small, our tenancy spread out,
our entirety was a slow circuit,
but we were not perturbed.
There were a few things that we knew:
that altogether sun is a good thing
and rain, that what drives apart does not
release, that our wonder won’t resolve,
that unfolded things still bear a crease.

. . .

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