At last the house

At last the house has made a moon
to lope around, erratic orb, your
seasons come on with that other’s sun.
Inside the room, there is a room
where the wearing of the day hangs
weary up again by night. In that room,
a universe the size exactly of a man, and
loss a little larger than your heart.

. . .

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s